One Wish
by Archaeobee
Summary: On the eve of her twentyfourth birthday, Sarah Burke loses consciousness and wakes up three hundred years in the past on the docks of Port Royal. It's not long before a certain pirate lands her in jail, initiating the adventure of a lifetime...[REDONE]
1. Forgotten Birthday

**Author's Note: **Here it is, ladies and gents, the edited and redone One Wish! I found this necessary to do before Dead Man's Chest came out, so I would have a decent rooting for writing the sequel. I've completely redone the story, making it (hopefully) more realistic and less teen-drool-fest. Sarah is older, less based on me, and as such much improved. Since shout outs are now banned, I'm going to try to respond to reviews by email, so sorry if I don't get to you all! Despite the strike, it has been seen to that I'm as busy as ever. And now, without further ado, I give you...

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_**One Wish**_

_By Dream Descends_

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The star sign Pisces is known by most to simply be the fish. It is known by most that if you are born between the twentieth of February and the twentieth of March, you are designated a Pisces. What is not known by most is that there is much more to it than a horoscope in the paper and a connect-the-dots puzzle in the sky. The ample layers beneath the shallow description above are rarely explored.

If one _were_ to explore them, one would learn that the constellation of Pisces was originally named Kun, in accordance to the Babylonian legend. Kun translated means the tails, or the tails of the fish. One would also learn about the symbol of Pisces, that most describe as a curved 'H'. It can be interpreted in two ways, the most popular being two fishes tied together, swimming in opposite directions. This symbolizes the conflicting emotions of the Pisces, and their hidden depths. The other interpretation is two crescent moons connected by a straight line, signifying higher consciousness that is constricted by the material world.

Pisces is always listed last in the newspaper horoscopes. This is because the constellation of the fish is last in the cycle, symbolizing death and the end of things. It also makes Pisces the most connected of the signs to the afterlife and the spiritual world. This makes Pisces dreamy and one will find they are usually in some way tied to mysticism. If a Pisces has a bad feeling at any time, you best be on your guard.

As the author is sure more than most of you know, a fish—at least a live one—can be found in water. As such you will find Pisceans are inexplicably attracted to the wet element, whether it be shown through an enjoyment of bubble baths, or doing laps every night at the local swimming pool. A Pisces is at home in the water, most of all at sea. The Piscean's weaknesses, even the near dangerous temptation of alcohol that they can find irresistible, will not take this longing away from them.

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Sarah Burke, a literature major at Kwantlen College and would-be writer, sat in her tiny silver Neon as it hummed in the near deserted parking lot of Chapters Books. She set the car into park and leaned back, pausing a moment before pulling out the key, and then exhaling deeply as the headlights died. The hard darkness of the city night sky crept over her, stilling the crisp air. She opened her door and stepped out into the stifled atmosphere of the mute plaza, absently grabbing her purse and tucking it securely under her arm. With a quick glance around, she walked briskly across the lot and, almost jogging now, up onto the curb. After fiddling with her keys for a moment, she inserted one into the lock on the huge glass doors of the store and skipped inside.

The nighttime always made her nervous.

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In the graffiti-laced alley between Chapter and Home Depot, a small group of hunched over, masculine figures spoke in murmurs. A short laugh cut into the muffled conversation every once in a while, but besides that the only other sound was the sizzle of cigarettes and the scrape of boots against cement.

"Hey—check it out."

A woman was heading towards the Chapters doorway, virtually reeking of anxiety and wearing black pantyhose over long legs. She unlocked the entrance and leapt inside the extensive bookstore, not stopping after she closed the door behind her.

The men waited a beat, then put out their cigarettes and grinned at each other.

۞

Only the front half of the store had lights on, leaving the back half in long stretching shadows and a maze of darkened bookshelves. Sarah's pumps made a harsh slapping sound on the wood floor that echoed off the walls. As she made her way down the center of the aisles, she glanced uneasily down each one, looking for the two cashiers she had trusted to close down the store.

_Oh, great time to skip out of work, Sarah,_ she mentally berated herself, as she came to the back of the store. The door that led into the staff only areas was unlocked.

In the back room, box after box of unpacked books were stacked up, the ones with the later dates pushed up to the front, reminding her of how behind they were getting. With a groan, she stepped out and closed the door behind her. No one was there.

After quickly using the staff bathroom, she examined herself in the spotted mirror. Her almost-black hair was straying from the shoddy bun she had tied it in that morning, hanging limply over her face. She tugged out the elastic and let it hang around her shoulders. She didn't want to take the time to fix her makeup—no one was going to see her anyways, and it made her look even paler than she already was.

She turned to the side, straightening out her skirt. She was skinny—not slim, _skinny_. She had been slim once, before she moved out of her parents'—_mom's_ house. But that was six years ago. Back then she could've called herself pretty, too.

Whirling around, she stared at the door in alarm, hazel eyes widened. A door had shut somewhere in the store.

Mind buzzing, she tried to remember if she had locked the front door after she had come inside. She quietly closed the bathroom door, cautiously re-entering the main part of the building. Her hand was inside her purse, digging through it as silently as she could, trying to find her cell.

Someone's voice floated back to her from the front of the store—male, low. Swallowing, she eased herself backwards into the astrology section. Her heart was beating so hard it was almost painful. Half of her mind was telling her to stop being ridiculous; it was probably the employees she had left to do her job for her—who would rob a _bookstore_ anyways? She had always jumped to ridiculous conclusions, especially at night. It was just nerves.

But it was two _girls_ she had left to close. The voice she had heard was distinctively male.

And if those girls hadn't closed properly, which they _hadn't_ because the back room was unlocked—hell, they probably skipped out of work just like her—the cash registers could very well be unlocked too. But surely the girls would put the money away…?

_You're at the other end of the store; they won't find you._ Taking rhythmic gulps of air to calm herself, she clumsily slipped off her shoes and stuffed them in her purse. On tiptoe, she moved along the aisle and into the kids' corner, until she was as far away from the intruders as possible. She sat down behind the children's classics section and hugged her knees to her chest, nervously plucking at her pantyhose.

A moment of harsh breathing, and then with a rumbling mechanical boom, all the store lights went dark. Sarah involuntarily let out a little gasp, as the shadows stretched farther up the walls.

_Cell phone. _She glanced down into her purse. It was resting there on the top, and in bright blue the words _LOW BATTERY_ were flashing in her eyes. She could feel her stomach plummet as she glanced at the time.

_11:51._

Tears pricked her eyes. It was her twenty-fourth birthday in less than ten minutes—March sixteenth. Her lips turned up in a watery smile as she remembered what she had said when she was younger: _the day nothing ever happened. _The strangest things came to mind at the strangest of times.

Her family was Irish on both sides—and fiercely proud of the fact. When the doctor had announced that her mother's due date was March seventeenth, Saint Patrick's Day, her relatives had been thrilled. When she was born a day early—they hadn't been. Sarah had missed out on unending familial approval by a day, and as such was fated to suffer the consequences for the rest of her life. Her birthday had never been a very exciting event in her childhood home, what with everyone busy preparing for the celebration the next day; in fact it had been forgotten almost completely more than once. The people who did remember were the people who especially resented _the early baby_ for it.

Things hadn't improved when her father passed away on March twelfth, six years before, of lung cancer. He was a chain smoker—and probably the best in the world at hiding it. He would always smoke with gloves on, and change clothes after each cigarette. He carried scope, air freshener, and cologne around with him at all times. Sarah didn't even realize why he stepped outside so often until she was in her preteens, and found a pack in his desk drawer.

The year he died, no one had even wished her happy birthday. Not to say that she resented him for it, no—he had been a good father, and it wasn't his fault his heart stopped beating. He died at forty-six.

Her parents had divorced only a couple of months before he had been diagnosed, and her mother had taken Sarah's younger sisters and moved to England, which Sarah had always thought was a bit ironic considering how ridiculously patriotic the woman was. Sarah was seventeen, and preferred to live with her quiet, unfussy father, so she had stayed with him in Canada. She was the first to hear that he was scheduled to die within a couple of months after Christmas.

And so when she got drunk with her friends tomorrow, she wouldn't be celebrating—she would be mourning.

A damp spot formed on her pantyhose, summoning her out of her reverie. She slowly brought her hand up to her cheeks, and realized she had been crying.

Closing her eyes, she tried to think of something else, anything else, to squash the terror quickly mounting inside of her and the tears that could quickly turn to sobs. With quivering fingers, she reached blindly behind her head for a book.

The novel she pulled out was unusually worn for something in the classics section. It was probably from the used book sale they had a week ago, that had gotten them some brownie points with their supervisor for once. The book probably hadn't been sold and was categorized afterwards. She squinted, trying to read the cover in the dark.

_Pirates of the Caribbean._

That was odd. She was a literature major and she hadn't heard of it—if it was really a classic. The only pirate classics she knew of were by Robert Louis Stevenson and this author was unfamiliar.

In smaller lettering, under the title, it read, _The Lost Factual Adventures of Captain Jack Sparrow, In Three Volumes. _Sarah raised her eyebrows—another one of those 'true fiction' books. They were selling like mad these days.

Her heart beating at a more relaxed rate, she opened to the first page.

The image of a man's face was drawn out on the paper; a countenance with high, angular cheekbones, lips curved into a sly grin that flashed more than one gold tooth, and a matting of dark dreadlocks to frame it. Shaded by the tricorne hat atop the man's head, his eyes glittered and sparked like fire. Sarah was struck at the artistic expression that shone through them. The man was really quite good looking, despite the longish hair and gold teeth. She assumed he was the 'Jack Sparrow' that the cover had referred to.

Below the drawing of the pirate captain were the words: _Volume I: The Curse of the Black Pearl._

She was turning onto the sixth page as her phone's clock blinked to midnight.

۞

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	2. The Streets of Port Royal

**Author's Note: **For those of you who have me on your alert list and only received the alert for this chapter, I highly recommend going back and reading the first chapter, so things make sense. I've completely redone everything.

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_**Chapter Two:**_

_The Streets of Port Royal_

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Sarah had always imagined what walking up next to the ocean must feel like. Back when she had futilely believed it would be easy to make it as a writer, she would put the sensations on paper constantly. She decided she would hear the swell and rush of the tide before she even opened her eyes. She would keep them closed for a moment, enjoying the feel of the cool spray from the waves and the gritty feeling of the sand. The sighing of the water would eventually persuade her to look around, and she would find the perfect image of the golden sun beating down on a white-sand beach. The water would be as blue as the sky.

Now, she could hear the swell, and the sigh, and the rush—and though she wasn't lying on sand she could certainly feel its presence on the damp, splintery boards beneath her. But there was a sound—or a noise, rather—she hadn't imagined: the sound of civilization. A bland chatter came from somewhere distantly behind her, along with the clank of metal and—something less familiar—horses' hooves.

And yet something wasn't right. This was too realistic for a dream; it lacked that certain surreal quality that made you forget everything the moment you woke up.

She laughed shortly. _Maybe you've finally cracked. _A warped image of her mother appeared, standing mournfully over Sarah's freshly dug grave—_"On the very eve of her twenty-fourth birthday…"_

_Open your goddamn eyes!_ She forced her eyelids apart.

The first thing she saw was the great stretching ocean, piling out of a bay wave by wave, and extending endlessly to the horizon. It was around midday, according to the sun.

The ocean wasn't the only thing that took her breath away—no, there were _ships_. _Real_ ships, the kind she had bought books on when she went through that pirate phase as a teenager. A Galleon was anchored just off shore, near the tip of the bay's left side. A stunning Sloop was docked only one pier over. Near the end of the one she seemed to have appeared on, a group of fishermen were handling crab traps.

Gulls cried overhead. Sarah swallowed, whimpering feebly. She stood up on wobbly legs, and, one foot after the other, turned around.

An entire portside town extended beyond the harbour, brick and mortar interspersed with palm trees that sprung out between the shamble of roofs. The neat square buildings trailed up the slope of the island, finishing with a massive stone fort that topped the sudden cliff looming over the cove. Chimneys let out the occasional wisp of smoke, and its burning scent mingled with the smell of hot stones, sweat, and the salty tang of the ocean. And the _people! _There were townsfolk crowding the cobbled streets—playing, working, chatting, selling—all emptied out of their houses and dressed in startlingly old-fashioned attire. Everything was different—the colours were the browns and stained greys of hard labour, scattered with the lush greens of unspoiled nature; the air was somehow cleaner, purer, easier to breathe; there was quite literally an eminence of life that the twenty-first century lacked.

Sarah's throat tightened. Her heart was in her ears. She couldn't think. She couldn't breathe. Her mouth was moving, but her throat couldn't seem to produce sound. She blinked—several times—and nothing changed. The sun beat down on her, making her sweat through her thin shirt—

_Oh god, what am I wearing?_

She had on a simple navy blue bodice and wool skirt—underneath the bodice, a coarse cotton blouse. Underneath that, a simple shift and drawers; on her feet, a pair of worn looking leather boots, tan coloured and reaching just above her ankle.

But it was not just her clothes—over all, something was different about her. Her body seemed lighter, suppler, and some how hardened. She examined her hands—they were calloused and rough, the nails short and unpolished. Her skin was a solid nut-brown. It was as though she had lived in this tropical settlement all her life.

"'_Ey!_ You, miss!"

Sarah tensed as she pivoted to face the direction of the voice. A disgruntled looking elderly gentleman in a white wig and what appeared to be baroque aristocratic costume was heading straight towards her, head bowed in irritation, finger poised for a scolding. A young boy with shining brown skin scampered along in his wake. "What business 'ave you 'ere?" The gentleman demanded.

Sarah opened her mouth to reply, and a horrible stammering creak wobbled out of her mouth. She sighed in relief when the man turned suddenly, his eyes bulging. She followed his gaze out to sea.

A little fishing boat, or at least the mast of a fishing boat, was gliding through the water heading directly towards this wing of the dock. Standing atop the yardarm next to the miniscule crow's nest was—

"_Holy shit!_" Sarah cried thoughtlessly, her jaw dropping. She backed up, nearly tripping over her skirt, slapping both hands to her forehead. "Oh, shit, shit, _shit_…"

Standing atop the yardarm was the exact same man from the drawing, as though he had jumped from the pages of the book she had just been reading. _Jesus Christ, what's happened to me?_

She suddenly realized, if that man was Jack Sparrow sailing towards her, then the town must be Port Royal—the one from the book—which meant she was—

_I've passed out in a bookstore and woken up in Jamaica._

The aphorism "stranger things have happened" somehow didn't seem appropriate.

She reached back into her memory, trying to recall what had happened before she had woken up. She was reading—she had only gotten to page five or so—she thought she heard footsteps, the men coming closer—she saw something, a shadow coming towards the aisle…

That was it. And now she was here, in some pirate adventure novel that was supposedly factual, right in the spot where she had stopped reading, with a purportedly infamous pirate captain that had pulled off one too many amazing stunts to be ignored. That was all she knew—well, almost all she knew. But the part about that supposed curse couldn't be true.

Her mind kept repeating how utterly unbelievable her situation was. It was only a dream—realistic, but a dream all the same. She would wake up the next morning on the floor of Chapters, completely fine.

_And if you don't?_

At the most inconvenient time, the sinisterly vivid imagination she had once possessed came back to her. A whole new waterfall of ideas poured into her head, and everything seemed to come to a standstill as terror seized her limbs. Suppose there was no way back? Suppose she never saw her family, her friends again? What if she had been unconscious for days and days, and was missing in the real world—or even dead? She had read a book once—

_Hah, don't all your sentences start that way these days._

—She had read a book where the main character was sent to an alternate world whenever he slept, and would have to fall asleep again in the alternate world to return, or his original body would die.

She looked around. Somehow lying down and trying to sleep didn't seem like a good idea at the moment. And besides, she had gone into a book. This wasn't an alternate world. It was words off a page, with characters and a plot already written, ready to play out…but now she was here. What if she had somehow damaged the timeline of the story, and it would somehow implode around her and she would become a mere particle in some sort of time-reality vacuum? What if—

She shook herself as her common sense returned If she _was_ going to try to keep the plot intact—or even if she wasn't—the best thing to do would be to _get the hell out of there_, until she figured something out.

Moving swiftly, if a bit shakily, around the gaping harbourmaster, she walked as naturally as she could down the length of the dock and stepped into the hot, bustling streets of Port Royal, Jamaica.

۞

When the employees of the Newton Branch Chapters bookstore arrived at work the next morning, they found the front door unlocked and all the cash registers wide open. The money was securely locked away, and nothing was missing, but the workers were still unsettled. Their assistant manager didn't show up that day.

۞

The inhabitants of Port Royal were all buying, selling, or in the children's case, running into _other_ inhabitants as they played. Sarah was surprised by everyone's general openness. None of them seemed to mind when she stopped to hear what they were saying, and most of them ignored her intrigued stares. The streets smelt even more strongly of work and sweat, but also of baking and a thick woody scent that Sarah assumed just came with the town.

Most of the villager's conversations were centred on the promotion going on in Fort Charles, which she assumed was the stone fortress atop the cliff. A sea captain for the royal navy, named Norrington, was getting promoted to Commodore. Sarah dug through her memories, trying to recall what she had learned about the Spanish Main in the Baroque era, and what she may have known about the naval ranks. The massive history phase she had gone through as a teenager was finally paying off.

She learned the promotion ceremony was occurring as they spoke, attended by all the upper class residents of Port Royal, including the Governor's daughter. It was rumoured they were to be, if not already were, engaged.

Something about the sea air and the comforting rhythm of the town had lured Sarah out of her tense, mistrustful self; for once, she actually felt excited and eager. She was experiencing the kind of adventure a person only found in dreams— and even if this was some lunatic dream, she decided on the spot she would enjoy every last minute of it. She had always planned to set her novels in the past, just around this time; she thought it was romantic. Just taking in the old-fashioned environment gave her a kind of rush.

She had tied her hair up like the other woman, with a strip of fabric that she had tucked away in her sleeve. Wiping her forehead with the back of her hand, she sighed with relief as she saw a boardwalk leading onto one of the docks. She had barely spent ten minutes exploring, but the constant buzzing chatter drowned out her thoughts, and she could only take so much of stinking portside jungles from the past, even if she revelled in it. Her nose protested too strongly.

The dock, to her surprise and pleasure, led down to the sloop she had been admiring earlier. It bobbed calmly in the blue-green waters, a sort of rough beauty about it that tugged at Sarah's gut. She hadn't been on a boat in a long time—and never a real, proper one like this. Despite the inkling in the back of her mind that perhaps she shouldn't be near such a ship, she started towards the gangplank.

"This dock is off limits to civilians."

Two uniformed soldiers appeared in front of her, faces stern as they sized her up. One was considerably heftier than the other, and side-by-side they looked nearly comical. The stern looks seemed only brave facades, like dealing with 'civilians' made them nervous. The stocky one's small lips were pursed tightly, and the other had beads of sweat on his forehead.

"Oh," Sarah said slowly, almost wanting to stay just to watch them stumble over their bayonets. "My apologies." Absently she noted something about her voice was different, but at the same time it seemed entirely natural.

She turned to leave, and walked into a very solid barrier. "Sorry!" Sarah gasped, trying to steady herself. She looked up, and found herself in front of _the_ Captain Jack Sparrow.

_I think this just got interesting,_ she thought in dismay, as a pair of steady black eyes peered into hers and strong hands held her shoulders to support her. Her knees nearly went weak again as she took in the intensity of his gaze. He was definitely not unattractive. "Alright, love?" His voice was smooth—no—sly, like a purr.

"Uh…yes, fine—I'm fine." She laughed weakly, and then mentally slapped herself as the corner of his mouth turned up in a grin. Abruptly she knew exactly what he thought of women—or at least, made a very educated guess. The arm he _slyly_ wrapped around her shoulders only enforced her theory.

"Now then," He said cheerfully, directing her back down to the two soldiers. They both stared dumbly.

"Perhaps you fine gentlemen would be _so_ kind as to give this charming lady a tour of your…vessel," the captain finished the suggestion with a flourish of his free hand and a winning smile.

"Off limits, sir," The thinner one said stubbornly. "We don't have the authority to give, _ehm_, tours."

Barely missing a beat, Jack tried again. "Apparently there's some sort of a high toned and fancy to-do up at the fort, eh? How could it be," he paused, as though genuinely puzzled, "That two upstanding gentlemen such as yourselves did not merit an invitation?"

They both looked a little uncomfortable at the question, but the thin one was not to be undone. Sarah smiled at him disarmingly; she vaguely comprehended that a pirate had his arm around her. "Someone has to make sure this dock stays off limits to civilians," Thin maintained.

"S'a fine goal, to be sure, but it seems to me that a—" Jack moved a few steps to the right, Sarah pinned to his side, the guards stumbling to fall into place. "—A ship like that," he gestured to the galleon, anchored at the rim of the bay, "Makes this one here seem a bit superfluous, really."

"The _Dauntless_ is the power in these waters, true enough," Thin agreed; finally with some newly found confidence. "But there's no ship that can match the _Interceptor_ for speed."

Jack poised a finger to his chin as though thinking. "I've heard of one—supposed to be very fast, _nigh_ uncatchable—" He leaned forward to capture their interest, and said in a conspiring whisper, "The _Black Pearl_."

_Cursed ship!_ Sarah cocked her head slightly, now paying attention.

Thin leaned back and nodded while the stockier snorted dubiously. "Well," Stocky said, chuckling, "There's no _real_ ship, that can match the _Interceptor_…" He trailed off, still laughing.

Thin turned to him in mild offence. "The _Black Pearl_ is a real ship."

"No—no it's not."

"Yes it is, I've seen it!"

"You've seen it?"

"Yes."

Stocky let out a bark of doubtful laughter. "You haven't seen it!"

"Yes, I have!"

"You've seen a ship," Stocky started mockingly, "With black sails, that's crewed by the damned, and captained by a man _so_ evil that hell itself…spat him back out?"

"No," Thin admitted.

Suddenly, Jack was pulling her away from the guards and towards the gangplank. "Quietly, if you please," he murmured with an absent grin. Sarah tried not to giggle girlishly as he lead her over to the helm.

"What are you using me for?" Sarah asked half-heartedly, trying to stay in the character of innocent bystander. She held back a shiver as Jack took her hands and put them on the smooth wooden handles that steered the ship.

"You don't mind playing along, do you, love." He said it as a statement, not a question.

She grinned back.

"Hey! You two!" The soldiers came bumbling towards them, having finally realized their audience was missing. "Get away from there!" Thin cried, valiantly pointing his bayonet in their direction.

"You don't have permission to be aboard there," Stocky added.

Jack gave them an astonished, apologetic look. "I'm sorry, we just thought it was such a pretty boat—_ship_."

"What're your names?" Thin asked suspiciously.

Jack looked at Sarah, so she took the incentive. "Sarah," she said, then added quickly, "Burke." She figured there was no harm in sharing her real name to a couple of possibly nonexistent redcoats.

They nodded with raised eyebrows and turned to Jack. "Smith," he replied smoothly. "Or Smithy, if you like."

They both looked highly unimpressed with his answer. "Yeah? And what's your purpose in Port Royal, _Mister Smith_?" Stocky asked.

"Yeah, and no lies!" His partner warned.

Jack shrugged. "Well, then, I confess—it is my intention to commandeer one of these ships, pick up a buccaneer crew in Tortuga, and raid, pillage, plunder, and otherwise pilfer my weasly black guts out; savvy?"

There was a short pause in which Sarah almost burst out laughing, even though another part of her was unsure.

"I said no lies!" Thin finally exclaimed, looking upset.

"I think he's telling the truth," Stocky said out of the side of his mouth.

Thin sighed in exasperation. "If he were telling the truth, he wouldn't have _told_ us."

"Unless of course he knew you wouldn't believe the truth, even if he told it to you," Jack suggested.

The guards took a split second to attempt to decipher what the pirate had said, and, failing, moved to their only other target. "Well—what about you?" Stocky asked forcefully, jabbing his bayonet in Sarah's direction. "What're you doing…" His eyes darted from side to side. "…Here?"

Sarah swallowed her urge to laugh in their faces, noting somewhere in her mind that light-headed giddiness could very well be a sign of aftershock. "Merely an innocent bystander," she choked out, shooting Jack a sidelong look. His eyes were narrowed in deep thought—or confusion.

Abruptly, he clapped her rather heavily on the shoulder and let out a bark of laughter. "Hah, Serena—"

"Sarah," she corrected him sharply.

"Sarah! Yes, Sarah and I go back quite a ways, I'll tell ye, mates. Why, the day we met—interesting story, that…"

۞


	3. The Medallion Calls

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_**Chapter Three:**_

_The Medallion Calls_

۞

Sarah glanced idly around the deck. After a tribe of midgets had entered Jack's highly questionable narrative, she had fazed herself out, letting the rocking of the ship lull her into a dreamy state of reflection.

_Time travel…_It sounded so horribly cliché. It was the kind of thing that happened in old William Shatner movies, or tasteless romance novels. Her life was so utterly _un_-magical and colourless that she didn't even have dreams about this sort of thing anymore. Her imagination had dwindled and died along with her ambition.

And now, here, in a possible dream world, she could feel it coming back to her.

Jack was ridiculously surreal _and_ unreal, but he fascinated her—from his eloquent hand movements to his drawling style of speech. He was going against all stereotypical pirate characters, who had peg legs, eye patches, and a fourth grade vocabulary. The only thing that rang true was the outfit—or maybe just the hat.

She was staring idly out to sea as her thoughts came and went, when something moved in the corner of her eye. She turned to look at the cliff, and the fort. Her mouth formed a wide 'o' of horror as she caught sight of the female figure plummeting down towards the rocky waters below.

"Look!" She cried, pointing, and they all rushed to the railing as the girl hit the water. There was a split second where they all gaped, and then Jack turned to the stockier soldier, who had introduced himself as Mullroy. He raised his eyebrows. "Will you be saving her, then?"

"I can't swim!" Mullroy said earnestly.

Jack groaned. "Pearl o' the king's navy you are." Removing his belt and coat, he shoved them, along with his hat, into Sarah's arms. "Do not lose these," he ordered gruffly, and then dived expertly over the side of the ship. Her stomach turned over as he disappeared beneath the surface.

There was a split second, where everything seemed to still, and then two huge ripples spread through the water and out to sea. Accompanying them was a sort of muffled boom that seemed to sound far below them.

The three companions left on the boat stared at each other. "What was that?" The other soldier, Murtogg, began to say, but was cut off as he reached out to save his hat. The wind had abruptly changed directions and sped up, making the ship's flag curl around itself. There was a chill in the air that hadn't been present before, and it seemed to linger over the port like a heavy cloud.

The wary, perplexed concentration that had briefly taken over Sarah and the soldiers was pierced by a wordless grunt from the water. Jack was climbing up the side of the ship, a young woman with long sand-coloured hair slung over her shoulder. She was lacking the gown she had been wearing when she fell.

"Got her," Murtogg said, pulling her over the railing and onto the deck. Jack quickly followed, dripping seawater, as they all leaned over the unidentified woman anxiously. "_Not breathing_," Murtogg observed worriedly.

"Move!" Jack shoved him aside, and used his shiv to cut straight through the laces of the girl's corset. As he shoved it into Murtogg's hands, her eyes fluttered open and she turned to her side, coughing up water.

"Never would've thought of that," Mullroy said admiringly.

"Clearly you've never been to Singapore," Jack remarked, as water dripped from his nose.

Sarah almost reflexively appraised the girl's features—her pout made her lips constantly puckered and full, but they suited her high slanted jaw line. Her eyes were a deep brown colour, and gave away her emotions even if her countenance was still. Now, as they flickered over the people surrounding her, they reflected fear and suspicion.

"Where did you get that?" Jack's quiet, wondering tone broke the silence, and Sarah leaned over to see what he was holding. It appeared to be a gold medallion, with—_is that a skull?_

Suddenly, a sword appeared right under Jack's nose, and all four of them started. "On your feet." At least ten redcoats were surrounding them, bayonets pointed. The man who was obviously in command, and also the one with his sword pointed at Jack, looked at them all in cold fury.

"Elizabeth!" The girl Elizabeth scrambled to her feet and moved to the open arms of an older, wealthy-looking gentleman, who wrapped his coat around her. "Are you alright?"

"Yes," she replied quickly in a refined accent, her gaze still locked on Jack. "Yes, I'm fine."

The older man, who Sarah assumed was her father and obviously a man of some importance, looked at Jack in contempt. "Shoot him," he ordered.

"_Father!_" Elizabeth cut in angrily, and then turned to the man in command. "Commodore," she said in lighter tones. "Do you really intend to kill my rescuer?"

Sarah expelled a breath she didn't know she had been holding. She also realized this must be the man who had just been promoted from Captain, in Fort Charles.

Reluctantly, the Commodore lowered his sword. He was younger than his white wig suggested; Sarah could tell. "I believe thanks are in order." He held out his hand to Jack, who, after staring at it cautiously, took it in his own.

_Busted, _Sarah thought, wincing, as the Commodore grabbed Jack's wrist and pulled up the pirate's sleeve. A scar in the shape of a 'P' was branded on the skin revealed.

"Had a brush with the East India Trading company, did we, _pirate_?" The Commodore inquired, looking smug.

"Hang him!" Elizabeth's father amended his previous order in heated tones, and Sarah's insides plummeted.

"Keep your guns on him, men. Gillette, fetch some irons," the Commodore ordered another soldier, who marched off obediently. Meanwhile, Jack's sleeve was pulled up further to reveal a tattoo of a sparrow flying over the horizon. "Well, well," the Commodore said mockingly. "Jack Sparrow, isn't it?"

"_Captain_ Jack Sparrow, if you please sir."

"Well, I don't see your ship, _captain_."

"I'm in the market," Jack replied with a forced smile. "As it were."

"He said they'd come to commandeer one," Murtogg piped up.

"They?" The Commodore asked.

"She's his accomplice!" The soldier gestured to Sarah, and she paled, as the Commodore looked her up and down.

"A female pirate," the man said, sounding less officious and more…baffled. "Well, let's see. Your wrists, if you would be so kind, miss."

Sarah, acutely aware of everyone's eyes on her, especially Elizabeth's wide prying stare, pulled up her sleeves to reveal unblemished skin. Oddly enough, she felt relieved, as though she hadn't been sure a 'P' wouldn't be there after all.

"Maybe she wasn't caught like him, sir," Murtogg said, "but they're friends! He told us all about it!"

Norrington sighed. "Are you this man's accomplice, miss?"

"No! I mean, no, no sir," she answered desperately, and she could see him hesitate.

"I'm afraid I'll have to take the word of my men. You will be tried fairly. Another set of irons!"

Sarah was shooting daggers at Jack with her eyes, her fear pushed to the back burner. _He_ had gotten her into this mess with his stupid ploys; he could've gotten her _out_ but he chose to simply raise his eyebrows like some…_idiot_.

The Commodore took Jack's affects from her, and while she stood there fuming, he examined them. "No additional shot, nor powder," he observed, picking up the pirate's pistol. "A compass that doesn't point north—" He closed said accoutrement, then unsheathed Jack's sword only a few inches. After a beat, he looked up, smiling. "And I half expected it to be made of wood." The surrounding officers chuckled pompously as Jack gave another strained smile. "You are without a doubt the _worst_ pirate I have ever heard of."

Jack held up his index fingers, indicating a pause. "But you _have_ heard of me." This time the grin was genuine.

The smile slipping off his face, the Commodore took Jack by the wrist and pulled him over to where Gillette stood with two sets of shackles. Sarah was pulled up by another officer and watched in horror as Jack's wrists were chained together, waiting her turn with no lack of nausea.

"Commodore, I really must protest," Elizabeth said forcefully, standing between the Commodore and Jack. "Pirate or not, this man saved my life."

"One good deed is not enough to redeem a man from a lifetime of wickedness," the Commodore persisted intensely.

"Though it seems enough to condemn him," Sarah commented cynically under her breath, and Jack cast her an unreadable look.

The Commodore glanced over at her. "Indeed," he commented in exasperation.

"Finally," Jack muttered, as the shackles locked with a click, and with a catlike quickness, flung his arms around Sarah's shoulders, pulling the chain tight around her neck. A whole new kind of fear flooded her as the present company surged forward and then slowed as they realized what exactly had happened. All the soldiers hurriedly aimed their guns.

"No, don't shoot!" Elizabeth cried, eyeing Sarah in alarm.

"Elizabeth," her father said exasperatedly. "She's a pirate; it's no matter."

"And if I lied?" Jack inquired in a ragged tone. "If she's an innocent young woman you're just going to let me shoot, Governor?" He gave the man a penetrating look, and no one shot. "I knew you'd warm up to me," the pirate said fiercely. "Commodore Norrington, my effects please. And my hat!" Again, Norrington hesitated. "Commodore!"

While the man turned away to get Jack's 'effects', the pirate turned his attention to her. "Sarah—it is Sarah, isn't it?"

She nodded stiffly, in between rage and fear.

Jack moved his mouth as close as he could to her ear, and whispered so quietly she wondered if she'd imagined it. "_Play along, love_." Then, in a louder voice, "If you'd be so kind; come, come, dear, we don't have all day."

She awkwardly gripped the pirate's belongings as the Commodore dropped them into her outstretched arms. Jack spun her around by the shoulders, his pistol still aimed at her head. As she faced him, he grinned devilishly. "Now if you'd be very kind."

Though she was now reasonably sure he wouldn't fire, the cold metal brushing her scalp kept her on edge. She squashed his hat on his head, and fumbled with his belt, heart racing. All the while his hot breath was floating down her neck.

"Easy on the goods, love," he grunted, as she pulled the buckle tight. At his remark, she brought her head up, looking straight into his eyes.

"You're despicable." She half meant it.

"Sticks and stones, love," he brushed her comment off. "I saved her life, you saved mine—circle of life, like." Not waiting for her reply, he turned her back around. "Ladies, gentlemen," he announced, slowly backing up. "You will always remember this as the day that you _almost_ caught…Captain Jack Sparrow!"

With a shove, Sarah fell forwards away from him and into the arms of the Commodore.

"Now will you shoot him!" She heard the Governor cry.

"_Open fire!_" The soldiers' bayonets fired with a crack. Gunpowder sizzled in the air, and she heard something fall through the wharf and into the water. She scrambled away from the splintered planks, struggling to her feet. Jack was above their heads, swinging from a ship line. For a moment he seemed out of control, and then he landed on the top beam of a giant pulley. Bullets whizzing all around him, he tossed his manacle chains over a line leading to the ground, and slid along it down the length of the wharf.

Sarah found herself laughing in disbelief as he dashed away, disappearing into the streets.

"On his heals," Norrington ordered gravely. "Mr. Sparrow has a dawn appointment with the gallows—I would hate for him to miss it." He then turned to Sarah, and her smile quickly faded.

"As for you, Miss—"

"Burke," Sarah stammered.

"Miss Burke; I am placing you under arrest until we have further proof that you were not, in fact, involved in Mr. Sparrow's machinations. Gillette, take her away."

۞


	4. A Girl From Up North

۞

_**Chapter Four:**_

_A Girl From Up North_

۞

Sarah leaned against the uneven stone wall of her jail cell, grinding her teeth as the dirt floor coated the bottom of her skirt in a fine layer of dust.

_I hope you're shot in the ass, Jack Sparrow, so you can't sit down for a month._

She shifted uncomfortably, trying to ignore the questionable stares she was getting from the men in the next cell over. They were complete prats if they thought she didn't notice—it had been almost an hour and their eyes had been repeatedly straying to her hunched form. She was sitting on the stone platform that lined the wall, head in her hands, mumbling to herself. Every now and then she would cast the men dirty looks, trying to look as tough as possible.

_Further proof that I was not involved in Mr. Sparrow's…Bite me!_

She knew what they did to pirates in the eighteenth century—_short drop, sudden stop_. Her hands protectively circled her neck.

Just then, the jail door swung open, and down the stairs came Murtogg and Mullroy carrying a limp, familiar form. Sarah smiled maliciously as they dropped Jack on the stone platform in her cell.

"Wait a minute—should we put 'im in the same cell as a lady?" Mullroy asked his partner.

"Oh, we'll be fine," Sarah cut in sweetly. "I can take care of myself."

Uncertainly, the two men left the cell, locking it behind them, and disappeared up the stairs.

"Are you 'is lass, then?" One of the prisoners in the other cell inquired with a leer.

"I wouldn't go near him with a ten foot pole," she replied acidly, and the man turned away with a flinch.

"That's not very nice," Jack muttered, slowly raising his head as he regained consciousness.

"Awake, are you?" Sarah inquired bitterly. "So glad you could join us."

He sat up, rubbing the back of his head and giving her a brooding look. "I suppose you're not going to be very friendly with me," he said tiredly.

"After you left me to be arrested and possibly hanged?" She inquired sulkily. "_No_. And I hope you have a horrible headache. How did the _incredible_ Jack Sparrow get caught, anyways?"

"Thank you, _I do_," Jack retorted with a grimace. "And it's no business of yours."

"In denial, are we."

"Some bloody blacksmith got in my way, alright?" He replied testily, turning away.

Sarah shrugged off his irritable tone and stood up to stare out the window. Fog was rolling in from the harbour, slithering through the streets like a snake. The jail was warm enough, but she could feel the stones beginning to cool. She sat back down and wrapped her arms around herself, an odd feeling of anticipation settling over her.

۞

The hours passed by slowly as they could, with Sarah and Jack stubbornly ignoring each other. The men in the other cell were preoccupied, trying to get the dog with the keys close enough to snatch up. Outside, night had fallen over the port, and the town was dark. The view from the window, that Sarah had been looking out periodically, showed the fog had thickened and totally encompassed the bay. She was silently thankful that they were in on the cliff, eyeing the impenetrable mist with discomfort. Jack seemed unaffected, but it made her inexplicably uneasy.

"Would you just _shut up_ for a minute?" She snapped at the neighbouring cell, and the prisoners quieted down a bit, glancing at her timidly.

"Easy, love," Jack said under his breath, grinning. His hat covered his eyes, so she reached over and flicked the article up.

"Don't even start with me, Ja—" She was cut off by an echoing boom coming from the harbour. All of them froze, Sarah and Jack staring wide-eyed at each other.

"I know those guns," Jack said abruptly, and jumped up to look through the window. Sarah quickly followed, squishing in beside him.

The menacing shadow of a ship was gliding into the bay, its cannons firing in rapid procession, bursting into fire as they struck the town's buildings. "It's the _Pearl_," Jack said, his voice filled with a dark pleasure.

Sarah forgot to be frightened as her suspicion arose. She decided that mentioning a 'cursed' ship twice in one day was slightly above average.

"The _Black Pearl_?" One scraggly looking prisoner asked nervously, stepping closer. "I've heard stories…she's been preying on ships and settlements for near ten years…" He swallowed forbiddingly. "Never leaves any survivors."

"No survivors?" Jack inquired mockingly, a smirk fixed firmly on his face. "Then where do the stories come from, I wonder?"

"Look!" Sarah cried. "Jolly boats, going ashore." Now they all looked out the windows, and Jack's eyes narrowed thoughtfully. "D'you think they'll come in here?" She asked, trying not to sound anxious.

"They'll go everywhere, love," Jack said ominously.

They were all quiet for a moment, as screams gradually began to mingle with the sound of cannon fire. Then suddenly Sarah was thrown backwards, not even hearing the whistling until she was in the air. Her shoulder made painful contact with the floor as her ears rang, fire and dust filling her mouth. Stones tumbled forward onto the ground as the cannon ball made contact with the jail wall.

She vaguely realized Jack had covered her body with his, and her annoyance with him softened a little. After a beat, they both scrambled to stand, and stared in incredulity at the massive whole in the neighbouring cell's wall.

"My sympathies, friends," one of the prisoners said as his cellmates nimbly hopped out into the night. "You've no manner of luck at all!" The hole had barely spread a head's with into their cell. They watched glumly as all the other men escaped and they were left alone.

Sarah realized a moment later that Jack had left her side and was reaching through the bars of their cell, bone from the other cell in hand. He shook it desperately, crooning to the dog with the key ring that was hiding under a bench.

"Come on, doggy. It's just you and me now. It's you and ol' Jack—come on. Come on, good boy." The dog meandered closer as Sarah watched sceptically. "That's it, good boy; come on! Bit closer, bit closer. That's it, _that's it_, doggy. Come on you filthy, slimy, mangy cad."

A noise came from overhead and the dog skipped away. Jack groaned. "No, no, no, no, no! I didn't mean it," he said pathetically. "I didn't…"

The guard tumbling down the stairs interrupted him. Jack straightened and went rigid as two filthy looking men, one greasy and mangy-looking, the other dark-skinned with dreadlocks, entered the jail.

"This ain't the armoury!" One exclaimed, looking around. Sarah gingerly backed up until she was against the wall, and then made herself as small as she could.

The dark-skinned one caught sight of Jack and his mouth turned up in a grin. "Well, well, well—look what we have 'ere, Twigg. Captain _Jack Sparrow_."

Twigg grinned as well, stepping forward and spitting at Jack's knees. "Last time I saw you, you were all alone on a godforsaken island, shrinkin' in ta the distance." The man named Twigg let out a bark of cruel laughter. "His fortunes aren't improved much."

"Worry about your own fortunes, gentlemen," Jack replied coolly. "The deepest circles of hell are reserved for betrayers, and _mutineers_."

The dark-skinned one grunted angrily and reached through the cell bars, grabbing Jack by the throat.

Sarah's jaw dropped in horror. As the moonlight that was floating through the window spread over the man's arm, flesh turned to pure white bone and fabric to tatters. She felt her stomach lurch and slapped a hand over her mouth.

"So there is a curse," Jack said hoarsely. "That's interesting."

"You know nothing of hell," the man muttered angrily, then, with one final jab at Jack's throat, pulled his arm away and left the jail, his companion in tow.

"That's very interesting."

"Jack," Sarah said weakly, her voice breaking. "Jack—what the—what the _hell_ was that?"

"That, love, is an excellent example of unhealthy dieting…No, no, I'll tell you—put your hand down first. I don't respond well to physical threats."

۞

Sarah sat on the cold ground of the cell, idly braiding a chunk of her hair. Mid-morning sunlight cut through the dust in the air, pooling around Jack's feet as he was sprawled lazily across the dirt. They had spent an uneasy night in the jail, checked on several times by different levels of officers. Apparently the scaffold had been blown up the night before, so they were saved—for the time being.

After Jack had told her the story of the Aztec gold and Captain Barbossa's cursed crew, all of which she had read a similar version in the book, she had decided nothing would be allowed to surprise her any more. She would just have to stomach the fact that things were a little different in this world, and as long as she was stuck here she was part of it—even if that meant believing in curses.

She shifted her foot and nudged Jack's hand. He was holding the dog's bone, which he had, after sharpening it, tried to use to unlock the cell door. It had taken several sarcastic comments from Sarah before he finally gave up and decided to spend his time lying on the floor instead.

His head lifted a bit when she nudged him, so she knew he was paying attention. "Why d'you keep a compass that doesn't point north?" She knew the question was random, but her thoughts were wandering quite randomly after spending almost twelve hours in a confined space.

"No reason," Jack replied, tight-lipped.

"Didn't know it was such a personal question," Sarah said defensively.

A moment's pause, then Jack said, "You wouldn't believe me if I told you."

"I've resigned myself to believing in some heathen gods' curse, I think I can believe about anything at the moment."

He sighed. "It points to Isla de Muerta." He passed his hand across his mouth when he said it, so she wasn't entirely sure she had heard him right.

"The cursed island?" She said incredulously. Her head sunk into her hands again. "Good god. You're much more involved in this than you make out, aren't you? What aren't you telling me?"

"If I didn't tell you before, why would I tell you now?" Jack snapped.

"Because you owe me an explanation! You got me here in the first place—I deserve some compensation. Tell me, and we're even, alright?"

He rolled onto his side and stared at you. "You weren't this annoying yesterday afternoon," he grumbled.

She raised her eyebrows, waiting.

"Bloody hell…" Jack groaned. He opened his mouth to speak.

The jail door opened quietly and a dark-haired young man in peasant's dress about Sarah's age appeared on the stairs. He came up to their cell and stared down at Jack impatiently. "You, Sparrow."

Sarah straightened up, interested. He was classically handsome with an open, innocent air about him that made her suddenly feel very filthy, sitting on the floor of _her_ cell. "Who's this?" She asked Jack.

"Some bloody blacksmith," Jack replied, and then looked up at the man. "Aye?"

"You are familiar with that ship, the _Black Pearl_?"

"I've 'eard of it," the pirate said evasively.

"Where does it make berth?" The man asked edgily.

"Where does it make berth?" Jack cast an amused look in Sarah's direction. "Have you not heard the stories?" When the man looked blank, Jack continued. "_Captain_ Barbossa, and his crew of miscreants, sail from the dreaded Isla de Muerta. It's an island that cannot be found, _except_ by those who already know where it is."

"The ship's real enough," their visitor said with annoyance. "Therefore its anchorage must be a real place. _Where is it_?"

Jack examined his nails. "Why ask me?"

"Because you're a pirate!"

"And you want to turn pirate yourself, is that it?"

"Never," the man replied, disgusted. When Jack lay back down, disinterested, he said with an air of confession, "They took Miss Swann."

"Elizabeth, she's the governor's daughter," Jack said to Sarah by way of explanation. He smiled at Will. "So it is that you've found a girl. Well, if you're intending to brave all, hasten to her rescue, and so win fair lady's heart—you'll have to do it alone, mate. I see no profit in it for me."

The man leaned forward, a faint smile playing on his lips. "I can get you out of here."

"How's that?"

"I helped build these cells. These are half pin-barrel hinges," he said, gesturing to them. Picking up a wooden bench that had been outside the cell, he continued, "With the right leverage, and the proper application of strength—" He shoved the bottom two legs of the bench in between the bars. "—The door will lift free."

Sarah felt her whole body tense, preparing for action.

"What's your name?" Jack asked, looking the man up and down.

"Will Turner," Will replied.

"That would be short for William, I imagine," Jack said. "Good, strong name…No doubt a name for your father, eh?"

"Yes," Will answered, looking as bewildered as Sarah was by Jack's ramblings.

"Uhuh…" Jack mumbled pensively. Then, with a sudden shift of energy, he jumped to his feet, Sarah quickly imitating him.

"Well, Mr. Turner, I've changed me mind. If you spring me from this cell, I swear on pain of death I will take you to the _Black Pearl_, and your _bonny_ lass." He smiled charmingly and stuck his hand through the bars. "Do we have an accord?"

"What about me?" Sarah asked, hands on hips. "You got me in here, you're getting me out of here."

Jack stared at her and rolled his eyes, then turned back to Will with a smile. "She swears too."

Will shook Jack's hand. "Agreed."

"Agreed!" Jack repeated happily. "Now get me—_us_—out."

With a screech of metal, Will pushed on the bench and lifted the door from its hinges, shoving it to the side. "Hurry, someone will have heard that," he said, as Jack and Sarah stepped neatly out of their cell.

"Not without my effects," Jack insisted, practically skipping over to them.

Sarah stretched her hand out towards Will, grinning from ear to ear. "Sarah Burke," she said cheerfully, revelling in her freedom. With a burst of wicked glee, she added, "Your biggest fan."

Will shook her hand as well, staring at her as though he wasn't quite sure why she was there. "Are you his partner?" He asked curiously, gesturing to Jack.

"God forbid," the pirate muttered, strapping on his belt. He paused, and stared at her as well. "Who in hell are you, anyways?"

"A girl from up north, bored with life," she replied honestly enough, smiling.

۞


	5. Innocence and Daring

۞

_**Chapter Five:**_

_Innocence and Daring _

۞

As officers' boots pattered overhead, three fugitives splashed through the shallow waters underneath the stone bridge. Will and Sarah had obediently followed Jack through the alleyways of Port Royal, but now as the pirate eyed one of the Royal Navy's own battleships, they both took a mental step back.

"We're going to steal a ship?" Will asked, eyes wide, staring at the _Interceptor_. "_That_ ship?"

"Commandeer," Jack corrected. "We're going to commandeer that ship—nautical term." Then, unexpectedly, he turned around and Sarah actually did have to take a step back, as she was stuck in between her two companions, and Jack's hand gestures needed a lot of space to properly function.

"One question about your business boy, or there's no use going." Jack's voice had a darker quality as he spoke. "This girl…how far are you willing to go to save her?"

"I'd die for her," Will replied without hesitation, looking offended. Sarah sighed. He had been so promising.

"And what about you?" Jack inquired, looking at her warily. "Why are you still following us about?"

"What, you think I can _stay_ here after breaking out of jail?"

After a short silence, Will shrugged. "She has a point."

"Oh good," Jack said with obviously false sweetness. "Luggage." Before Sarah could retort, he gestured for them both to be quiet and follow him.

۞

"This is either madness, or brilliance," Will muttered.

"It's remarkable how often those two terms coincide," Jack replied.

They were at least ten feet below the surface, with a fisherman's boat over their heads to trap the air, and sandbags to weigh it down. Sarah had to agree as the tepid water danced around her shoulders, every so often brushing her chin. She had hiked up her skirt to make it easier for her to walk, but with her shoes digging into the muddy sand it hardly made a difference. She noted absently that women in the eighteenth century probably shouldn't show their legs, and that Will was pointedly looking anywhere but at her. Jack, of course, had only raised an eyebrow.

Oh well. _She_ wasn't from the eighteenth century; she would follow her own rules. They were just legs.

"So if we're going to commandeer the _Interceptor_, why are we going to the _Dauntless_?" Sarah asked.

"The Commodore needs time to prepare the _Interceptor_ for us, love."

There was a crunch as Will stepped into a crab trap, and Sarah was too busy laughing under her breath to try and decipher Jack's riddle of the hour.

When the _Dauntless_'s anchor came into sight, they dropped one of the sandbags and slowly floated up to the surface. Jack began climbing up the aft side of the ship, and Will followed, stopping every now and then to give Sarah a hand. She had let her skirt back down, so he wasn't averting his eyes anymore.

When they stepped onto the quarterdeck, dripping and panting, Jack turned to Sarah, smiling. "Play along, love?"

"Oh good," Sarah said sarcastically, nodding with reluctance.

"I suppose you're too gentlemanly to point a sword at her," Jack said to Will, resignedly. "Very well." He pulled Sarah over to him and aimed his pistol at her temple.

_Doesn't this seem familiar, _Sarah thought to herself, trying to relax as Jack half-shoved her down the stairs onto the main deck. Will followed, sword drawn.

A small group of officers, including the one that had cuffed Jack and Sarah named Gillette, were talking and laughing by the railing.

"Everyone stay calm, we are taking over this ship!" Jack announced, and the group turned around in surprise.

Will's sword appeared at Sarah's cheek. "Aye, avast!"

The sailors laughed as Jack cast Will an alarmed look. Sarah did her best to look frightened.

"This ship cannot be crewed by two men," Gillette said smugly. "You'll never make it out of the bay."

"Get into that boat, or the lass dies."

Gillette shifted uncomfortably. "You wouldn't—"

"Son," Jack drawled patronizingly. He moved the gun from her temple and aimed it at Gillette's nose, cocking it. "I'm Captain Jack Sparrow. _Savvy_?"

The sailors obediently piled into a jolly boat and cast off as quickly as they could.

As soon as they were a safe distance away, Jack put his pistol away and Will sheathed his sword. "Right then," Jack said. "I'm going to have a little fun with the Commodore's rudder chain—you two, look lively." He spun around and walked away.

"Do you know anything about sailing?" Will asked her.

"Enough," she replied. She used to go sailing with her father—it was his favourite thing to do in the months before he died. "And you?"

"Enough," Will agreed with a smile. Sarah's stomach fluttered. He was really very handsome.

They did their best to 'look lively', and eventually Jack reappeared, seemingly out of nowhere. "Here they come." He looked over at the _Interceptor_, which was coming full sail towards them. "Come on."

They followed him up to the forecastle deck, and then, with raised eyebrows, over the railing and down, down, until they were clinging to the massive hull.

It seemed to Sarah that it was hours before the Interceptor pulled up beside them, a gangplank was secured and the sailors boarded the ship. She heard Commodore Norrington's authoritative voice over the sailors' mutterings: "Search _every_ cabin, every hold, down to the bilges."

"That's our queue," Jack whispered, gripping one of the lines they had brought down with them. He pushed off the hull with his feet and swung across the gap between the ships onto the _Interceptor_.

"You next," Will murmured. Sarah flexed her fingers around her line—she wouldn't admit to it, but she had a horrible fear of heights. "Go!"

With a wobbly shove, she swung across, biting down hard on her tongue to keep from screaming. Her feet gave way as she landed, and she tumbled forward into Jack. He steadied her, hands on her shoulders. "Alright?"

She nodded, flushed, as Will landed perfectly next to them. The pirate moved to the helm as the blacksmith used his hatchet to cut the roped binding them to the _Dauntless_. The gangplank clattered into the water as the wind caught their sails, and they were free.

"_Sailors, back to the Interceptor, now!_" The Commodore watched, infuriated, as his men futilely tried to board their vessel.

"Thank you, Commodore, for getting us ready to make way! We'd have a hard time of it by ourselves!" Jack's dicey comments were cut off by gunfire, as the bewildered soldiers finally straightened themselves out. It was no use, however; the _Interceptor_ was already well on its way. Sarah could see the Commodore's head wilt as he realized there was nothing he could do, and felt a pang of sympathy.

It was quickly forgotten as she turned and glimpsed the stretching horizon. _I'm on a goddamn adventure, _she thought, as her insides rushed and swelled. With a shout of laughter, she jumped up and did a semi-wiggle of joy. Jack and Will stared at her.

"Well, at least one of us is having a good time," Jack muttered cynically. Sarah beamed at him.

"You can't tell me you're not pleased with yourself."

"Alright, I won't."

Sarah rolled her eyes.

۞

"When I was a lad living in England, my mother raised me by herself. After she died I came out here, looking for my father."

Sarah nodded absently, staring trance-like at the gleam of Will's sword as he sharpened it. The sun beat down on the top of her head, making her sweat.

"Is that so?" Jack stepped past them towards the helm, which he hadn't let either of them come within five feet of.

"My father, Will Turner," Will began, getting up and following Jack. Sarah shook herself with a start.

"At the jail it was only after you learned my time that you agreed to help," Will noted. "Since that's what I wanted I didn't press the matter."

Jack looked almost too nonchalant as Will came dangerously close to the helm. "I'm not a simpleton, Jack. You knew my father."

Sarah almost snorted at the ridiculously dramatic tone Will held, but remembered just in time she was in the world of adventure novels.

"I knew 'im," Jack said gravely, after a pause. "Probably one of the few who knew him as William Turner; everyone else just called him Bootstrap, or Bootstrap Bill."

"Bootstrap?"

"Good man," Jack added. "Good pirate. I swear you look just like 'im." He smiled faintly and returned to the helm.

Sarah let out a little squeak as Will whipped out his sword, anger twisting his attractive features. "My father was _not_ a pirate!"

Jack sighed gustily. "Put it away, son. It's not worth you getting beat again." He hadn't even turned around.

"You didn't beat me," Will protested. "You ignored the rules of engagement. In a fair fight, I'd _kill you_."

"That's not much incentive for me to fight fair, then, is it?" Jack reached down and turned the wheel violently, making the main boom swing around and catch Will in the gut. Clinging to the wood desperately, he was dangled over the water as Jack watched leisurely.

Sarah run forward to help him but Jack stopped her with a hand. He picked up Will's sword that the younger man had dropped and pointed it at its owner.

"Now as long as you're just hanging there, pay attention. The only rules that really matter are these: what a man can do, and what a man can't do."

Sarah ground her teeth.

"For instance—you can accept that your father was a pirate _and_ a good man, or you can't! But pirate is in your blood boy, so you'll have to square with that some day. And me, for example—I can let you drown! But I can't bring this ship in to Tortuga all by me onesie, savvy?" Sarah cleared her throat pointedly, but Jack ignored it. "So." He swung the boom back on deck, and Will fell with a thump.

Jack flipped around the sword he was holding and offered it to Will. "Can you sail under the command of a pirate…or can you not?"

Cautiously, Will accepted his weapon back. "Tortuga?"

Jack grinned and nodded. "Tortuga."

Sarah had read enough about the infamous pirate port to know what she was in for. It distracted her for a moment—until Jack took both her arms and physically moved her out of the way so he could get back to the helm.

"All by your onesie?" She inquired, affronted.

"Excluding yourself of course, love." He smirked at her.

"Ugh, please just _stop_ calling me that. It's irritating."

"My apologies for _irritating_ your normally placid disposition," Jack retorted acerbically.

"And you're just happy as a clam, all the _bloody_ time!"

He abruptly whirled around to face her, so close she had to back up a step. "I know it's difficult for you, but please, _be quiet_ and do something _other_ than nag at me."

With a frigid nod, Sarah stormed off below deck, tears of rage pricking her eyes. She sat down on a hammock in the crew's quarters, shoulders quivering and fists clenched.

She wouldn't have liked pirates so much in her teen years if she had known what complete jerks they were.

Taking deep breaths to quell her anger, she looked up when she heard footsteps on the stairs. For a moment she thought it was Jack coming to apologize, but then Will materialized out of the shadows.

"I thought I would come see how you are," he said in his shy, deep voice.

Giving him a watery smile, she swallowed. "Sorry, I always cry when I'm angry," she murmured, wiping her eyes. "It's sweet of you."

He blushed faintly, and her heart swelled. Cautiously, she said, "The girl we're going to save, Elizabeth…have you ever told her how you feel?"

His eyes widened at the sudden change of subject, and he shook his head silently, his blush spreading.

"When," Sarah was careful not to say 'if', "When we find her, you should tell her. She loves you too."

"How do you know?" Will asked, forgetting to be embarrassed.

Sarah laughed engagingly. "Because, you're easy to love," she said honestly. A voice in the back of her head was asking her frantically what she was doing, but the voice in the front of her head was ignoring it.

The tension in the room was almost static as she instinctively leaned forward.

_This isn't how they do things in the eighteenth century, Sarah…_

The pounding of steps of the stairs, and both Will and Sarah leaned back, flushing. Jack slowed and stared at them both with an unreadable look. Sarah knew they hadn't fooled him.

"Sorry to interrupt," the captain said remotely. "But, contrary to popular belief, it takes more than one person to sail a bloody ship."

"We're coming," Sarah replied, suddenly feeling humiliated. Will was off limits—and already in love. Besides, they barely knew each other and it probably wasn't a good idea for Sarah to get involved with someone here.

She smiled regretfully at him, and he nodded understandingly.

"You know, you and Jack argue like an old married couple," Will teased as they made their way up the stairs.

Sarah swatted at him.

۞

Dusk was just settling over Tortuga as the three companions dropped anchor and rowed to shore. Already the sounds from the town—gunshots, shouts, and laughter—reached their ears as they made their way across the white-sand beach. They trekked in silence until they reached the main street, and then Jack spoke up.

"It is a dire day a man dies without having visited the Caribbean, love—but more importantly, it is indeed a sad life that has never breathed deep the sweet proliferous bouquet that is Tortuga, savvy?"

Being among his own kind seemed to put him on friendly terms with her again, and for some reason she was eager to stay on those terms. Nodding agreeably, she nudged Will, whose countenance was decidedly sour.

"What d'you think?" Jack asked, spreading his arms. Sarah noticed he was holding a cane he hadn't had before.

"It'll linger," Will replied unenthusiastically. Sarah didn't know how he could be so glum when the town was so alive—it seemed to have it's own pulse. She felt invigorated just being there, but she didn't say this—and fortunately Jack was distracted by the approach of a frizzy-haired female and didn't hear Will's negative remark.

"Scarlett!" The pirate exclaimed moving forward to greet her. He was stopped in mid-stride as she brought up her hand and slapped him hard across the face.

Both Will and Sarah winced as their companion staggered backwards. "Not sure I deserved that," he commented vaguely. When he turned back around, another woman, blonde this time, was smiling unpleasantly at him.

"Giselle!"

"Who was she?"

"Wha—"

Another ringing slap was brought down on Jack's cheek, and Will had to steady him with a hand on his arm. "I may have deserved that," Jack said, stretching his jaw.

They weaved their way through the surging crowds, carefully avoiding any drunk looking men with drawn pistols. "We should escape this wretched pit as soon as possible," Jack called over the noise.

"With a crew," Will reminded him.

"Ah yes, well," Jack replied, as he led them into a tavern called _The Faithful Bride_, according to the sign above. "It just so happens that you know the man, who knows the man, who knows the finest sailors in Tortuga."

"And who might that be?"

"A Mister Joshamee Gibbs," Jack answered proudly.

If Sarah had been expecting it to be calmer in the tavern, she would've been disappointed. Luckily, she expected no such thing and followed Jack with only one or two flinches as a mass brawl occurred around her.

Outside the back door of the tavern, a man lay with his head resting on the swollen belly of a pig, the man snoring loudly. Sarah assumed this impressive figure was Gibbs. Jack picked up a bucket of the pig's drinking water and tossed it on the sleeping form.

Sputtering, his eyes opened. "Curse you for breathing, ya slack-jawed idiot!" He cried angrily, pistol waving about. His eyes squinted trying to focus, and then suddenly his features brightened. "Mother's love—Jack!" He smiled amiably. "You should know better than t'wake a man when he's sleepin'—s'bad luck."

Jack kneeled down next to him. "Ah, fortunately I know how to counter it. The man who did the waking buys the man who was sleeping a drink—the man who was sleeping then drinks it while listening to a proposition from the man who did the waking."

Even Sarah had trouble following this, but the man named Gibbs seemed pleased. "Aye," he said. "That'll about do it!"

He got to his feet, and Will tossed the other bucket of water on him.

"Blast, I'm already awake!"

"That was for the smell," Will countered. The man looked as though he was about to retort angrily, then paused and shrugged concurringly.

They stepped back inside the tavern, and Jack went to order himself and Gibbs some drinks. Will and Sarah stood together, eyeing their surroundings with curiosity and caution. "Keep a sharp eye," Jack said as he passed them to sit with Gibbs. Sarah snorted.

"Why aren't we allowed to hear what they're saying?" She asked, mostly rhetorically, leaning backwards to see if she could catch their words over the din.

"I imagine Jack is used to working alone," Will replied, nervously backing away from a scantily clad young woman who was eyeing him interestedly.

"Let's just say it's a matter of leverage, eh?"

Sarah silently congratulated herself, trying to turn her head casually so Jack wouldn't notice.

"The kid?" Gibbs asked, confused.

"That is the child of Bootstrap Bill Turner," Jack said in a roguish tone, and Sarah wondered why this had any relevance. "His _only_ child—savvy?"

"The lad or…?" Gibbs asked, the same tone catching in his voice.

"The boy," Jack confirmed. "Girl's a ruddy tagalong." Sarah felt her throat tighten at this harsh evaluation, and turned away as the two men toasted each other.

"Why d'you think Jack agreed to help you just because you're the child of your father?"

"I imagine they were friends," Will said thoughtfully. "Why else would he go to all this trouble?"

"I don't know," Sarah replied vaguely, but she wished fervently Jack hadn't been interrupted that morning in their cell. She was beginning to think Will was in more danger than he had originally believed—he was just too _bloody_ innocent to realize it.

۞


	6. Beyond The Frame

۞

_**Chapter Six:**_

_Beyond The Frame_

۞

"If you're looking for something, love, odds are the waves've long since carried it away."

The Caribbean night sky had spread over them like a black sheet, sprinkled with stars and topped off by the bulging orb of the full moon. In between trembling sea and glittering sky, Sarah felt as though she had been dropped into a faultless painting—one that ended when you passed beyond its frame. With glazed eyes, she had been following the pearly sheen that coated the arc of a wave when Jack's gravelly voice intruded.

"I'm not looking for anything," she replied, employing the curt tone that was now almost a reflex when speaking with Jack. "I'm just _looking_."

"'Course you are."

Hearing the insufferable smirk that she knew was decorating his mouth, she turned away from the railing to face him. "Is it so unbelievable that I want to admire _this_ view?" She gestured expansively to the horizon.

Jack was sitting on an upside-down fish crate, staring intently into his lantern and fondling the neck of a bottle he had procured—stolen from someone—onshore. Will stood on the other side of the light, leaning against the mast. He had been whittling a piece of driftwood while he and Jack talked; their conversation focused on Will's past, and what Jack could tell him about his father—but it had faded until a relaxed silence hung over them all.

Until Jack decided to bother _her_ instead. "Your expression gave you away, love."

"You couldn't see my face," Sarah pointed out, grinning. She rested against the railing, propped up by her elbows as her knees moved with the bobbing of the ship.

Jack raised his eyebrow at her. "It was the expression of your shoulders," he answered impertinently, as though it were the most obvious thing in the world.

Sarah rolled her eyes. Their exchanges had almost turned into a game. "And what did my shoulders express, pray tell?"

"If you'd really like to know," he said, smiling unpleasantly, "They said you were isolated."

Her grin slipped a little, taken aback at his assessment. "Isolated?" She repeated, her confident tone shriveling quickly.

"Jack," Will reprimanded softly, and Sarah realized he must be sick of them constantly harassing each other.

The pirate got to his feet, his normal detached countenance returning. "Goodnight—Mr. Turner, Miss Burke. I'll be in _my_ cabin." He strode across the deck, chin up, and disappeared into the Captain's quarters.

Sarah shook off her discomfort, coming forward to join Will in the little circle of light the lantern supplied. "I'm sorry," she said quickly. "I know Jack and I arguing must irritate you."

He laughed quietly. "Only a little." He paused, as though remembering something, but then smiled at her and said in his normal tone, "I'm sure it's much better than whatever we'll be dealing with when we get a crew together. Like Gibbs said, there's got to be sailors on this island as crazy as Jack."

"Did you hear _all_ of what they said in the tavern?" Sarah asked casually.

"Most of it," Will replied just as casually. "I'm not as…naïve as Jack seems to think I am, you know."

"I know," she said quickly, feeling slightly ashamed of her earlier appraisal of the blacksmith. "I…I actually lost my father too, really." _Why are you telling him this! _"Six years ago—to illness."

She realized too late that it was extremely common to be missing one, or even both parents in this day and age, and she probably sounded like an idiot. Her cheeks flamed.

But Will looked down at her with genuine compassion in his eyes. "I'm sorry," he murmured. "It must have been hard for you. I never really knew my father, since he was always at sea. He was a…" His voice died away, and Sarah knew he had momentarily forgotten what Jack had told him that afternoon.

_Go to hell, Jack Sparrow. _"It's not so bad," she told him reassuringly, putting a hand on his arm. "Being a pirate, and all. I mean, Jack seems to be a generally—" she choked out the words, "—good man…and he was a friend to your father. That has to count for something."

"And you're alright," Will added softly.

"What?" Sarah's brow furrowed in confusion.

"Aren't you a…? I assumed, since you were in jail with Jack…"

"Oh!" Embarrassment flooded her face as she realized what Will must've thought of her. He seemed to loathe pirates, and she had been practically flirting with him earlier that day.

_Oh god, let me die right now. _Her hand fell from Will's arm and twisted awkwardly on her lap. "I'm not a pirate," she said feebly after a long pause. "I mean, I suppose now I am, but I wasn't before—Jack said I was his—"

_But he didn't, did he? It was the soldiers who accused you. Jack didn't say anything._

"I understand," Will replied. There was a long silence where they both looked straight ahead, deep in thought. Then, "How old were you? When your father passed on."

"It was four days before my eighteenth birthday." Her throat tightened and she squeezed her eyes shut, silently praying she wouldn't cry. She had never really spoken about it to anyone, she realized. She had never gotten it out of her system.

_You could tell him everything—he would understand._

But she didn't want to. Somehow Will wasn't the right person—somehow she felt like it would be demanding him to care for her in a way that wasn't fair to either of them. She opened her eyes.

"What's it like to be in love?"

The sudden change of subject caught Will off guard, and his head pivoted to stare at her.

"Sorry, if you'd rather not say…it's fine."

This time the silence went on so long she was about to announce that she was going to try and get some sleep. But Will spoke just as the words were about to fall from her mouth.

"Like hurting," He said wonderingly, staring out to sea as though she wasn't there. "Like hurting all the time, until you feel like you'll burst if you don't see them. And then when you do, you forget the hurt…because it's worth feeling that _happy_. And you want to reach out and teach them to feel like you do—because if they do, it'll be like having someone in the dark." His enthusiasm suddenly faded, and the sparkle in his eye disappeared as he stared back down at her, ostensibly surprised that she was there. "But they aren't always there…when you reach out." He finished with a drop of his chin, and Sarah knew he was thinking of Elizabeth.

"Goodnight, Will," she said quietly, rising to her feet and pulling open the hatch to the lower decks. She climbed down silently, the candle in her hands just barely quivering, until she got to the crew's quarters.

Then she sat down on the nearest hammock and let herself cry—

Jack had called her isolated.

—_Because you know the hurting, but you've never felt the happiness._

۞

The hold was dark and empty. Sarah rubbed her eyes, wondering if it was in fact morning, and contemplating rolling over and going back to sleep. The ship's woody scent, combined with sweat and brine, invaded her nostrils, however, was sufficient motivation to leave her hammock.

Getting unsteadily to her feet, she groaned as she realized there was nowhere to have a shower and she had no change of clothes. Seawater, combined with dirt from the jail and perspiration from the heat, had turned her into a walking ball of grime. It comforted her only slightly to know that her companions were in no better shape—in fact; Jack probably hadn't bathed in something other than the ocean in a matter of weeks.

She shuddered, trying unsuccessfully to flatten her hair. It was naturally bone-straight, and she had it cut at a forward slant in fair imitation of Cleopatra. According to her hairdresser, the style suited heart-shaped faces like hers. According to her mirror in the morning, it made her resemble a chipmunk.

Will and Jack were already on deck when she finally climbed out of the hatch, squinting in the bright sunlight. It was definitely morning. Onshore, Tortuga looked strangely ordinary and a good deal calmer than it had the night before. Sarah imagined it was because half the town was still hung over and asleep.

"Looking rested, Miss Burke," Jack called to her as she clung to a line for support, reacquiring her sea legs.

"Please shut up," she whispered feebly to herself, glancing skywards. "Please God, let him shut up this morning." She had never been very religious, but desperate times call for desperate measures.

"We'll be heading to shore as soon as Gibbs gets himself and whatever crew he's managed to scrounge up onto the docks. When I've looked our men over, we'll set out straight for Isla de Muerta." Jack paused, grinning at her as she dazedly joined them at the railing. "Does that fit into your exceedingly hectic schedule, love?"

"Oh, just fine," she mumbled, too tired to care if he was being rude or not.

"Good," he replied brightly, "Because there the ungainly drunk is now."

۞

On the docks, Gibbs had lined up what appeared to be the entire cast of a Ringling Brothers circus, including midget and bird. Jack walked gradually down the row of sailors, eyes narrowed in calculation, with Will and Sarah just behind him. They exchanged several dubious glances as they passed each fat, thin, short, and tall figure, each one stranger than the next.

"Feast your eyes, captain!" Gibbs said proudly. "All of 'em, faithful hands before the mast. Every man worth his salt." He paused, then added with a confident smile, "And crazy to boot."

"So this is your able-bodied crew?" Will murmured to Jack, his voice dripping with disbelief.

Jack stopped at his words, and approached the crewman nearest to him. "You, sailor!"

"Cotton, sir," Gibbs supplied.

"Mr. Cotton," Jack said gravely, "Do you have the courage and fortitude to stay true in the face of danger and almost _certain death_?" When the sailor's eyes strayed to Gibbs, Jack stepped so close their noses were almost touching and barked, "Mr. Cotton! _Answer, man!_"

"Ah, he's a mute, sir," Gibbs interjected quickly. Jack quickly backed up as the man continued, "Poor devil had his tongue cut out, so he trained the parrot to talk for him! No one's yet figured how…"

Jack took a step forward and then stared at the brightly coloured macaw on Cotton's shoulder. "Mr. Cotton's parrot," Jack began, chin high. "Same question."

Sarah turned her laugh into a cough as the parrot squawked back, "Wind in your sails! Wind in your sails!"

Gibbs winced. "Mostly we figure that means yes."

"'Course it does!" Jack agreed. He turned to Will. "Satisfied?"

"Well, you've proved them mad!" The blacksmith replied, and Sarah grinned behind her hand.

"What's the benefit for us?" A clearly female voice called out from the end of the line, catching Sarah by surprise. Her hopes raised as Jack nervously approached the source of the voice, his brow furrowed.

They stopped in front of a figure with similar clothes to Sarah, only she had no bodice and her skirt was brown. A wide-brimmed hat covered her eyes, so Jack reached out a hesitant hand and pulled it off. "Anamaria."

Sarah's enthusiasm drooped at first, when she fully took in the fiercely beautiful African woman—but then Anamaria raised her hand and swung it across Jack's cheek. Inwardly, Sarah cheered.

"I suppose you didn't deserve that one either," Will said derisively.

"No, that one I deserved," Jack informed him, wincing.

"You stole my bought!" The woman cried furiously.

"Actually—"

Another slap. Sarah beamed at her.

"Borrowed!" Jack gasped, stretching his jaw. "Borrowed without permission! But with every intention of bringing it back to you." He smiled winningly.

Anamaria was unfazed. "But you _didn't!_"

"You'll get another one," Jack tried, after a pause.

"A better one," Will suggested, enjoying himself immensely.

"A better one!"

Anamaria thrust a quivering forefinger in Jack's face. "I will," she said, teeth clenched.

"That one!" Will pointed at the _Interceptor_.

Jack gave him an exasperated look. "What one?" He followed Will's finger to the ship anchored just beyond the docks. "_That one?_" For a moment it appeared he would refuse, but then he turned to Anamaria and said with a pained smile, "Aye, that one. What say you?"

The crew agreed with an "Aye!" and Anamaria, after a beat, joined them.

"Right," Jack said cheerfully, "You can get your orders from my first mate, here," he gestured almost nervously to Anamaria. "For now."

While the crew piled into the boats and started rowing towards the _Interceptor_, Gibbs approached Jack worriedly. "It's frightful bad luck to bring a woman onboard, sir."

Sarah gestured vehemently, for the benefit of no one in particular since no one was looking at her, to herself.

Jack was staring up over the peaks of the island, into the deep cerulean sky. "It'd be far worse not to, however," he replied vaguely, and turned away. Will and Gibbs both took his place, trying to figure out exactly what it was he had been concentrating on, while Sarah followed Jack into one of the boats.

"Jack, listen," she began hesitantly, as he flopped down and opened his compass, wiping the case with his sleeve. He glanced up at her distractedly, so she went on. "I'm not sure I belong with you—and Will—on this ship. I mean, I only know the basics of sailing, and I couldn't use a sword to save my life."

She paused, hoping he would look up, or at least say something--even something sarcastic. He kept examining his compass, like he barely heard her.

"The thing is, I don't think I can be much help to you any more." She laughed weakly and added, "Not that I ever was. You said it yourself, I'm just a tagalong." At this, he finally raised his head and caught her eyes. His eyebrows were tilted pensively. She gazed steadily into the startling black of his irises. "I've decided I'm going to stay here, in Tortuga."

_There, you've said it, now you can leave. Get up, and walk away._

…_Get up, and walk away._

"I can't face a bunch of cursed pirates," she explained desperately. "I have no part in this like you or Will do. There's really just no point in me going with you."

Even as she said it, her confidence drained. She had no idea how she would survive in Tortuga. She had just thought if she somehow tried to find a way home…and it was even less likely she could survive a full-fledged pirate battle.

_You've barely known Jack for three days, and Will for even less—it's not like this is a big deal._

Abruptly, Jack picked up the oars and started rowing.

"Stop—what are you doing? I have to get off!"

"Love," Jack said coolly, only rowing faster, "Forgive me for doubting your abilities, but somehow I can't picture you enduring what it takes to make a decent wage in the only line of work available for _women_ in Tortuga." He gave her a lopsided grin, and added delicately, "And I'll make sure that swordplay is avoided in your presence. Besides, a pistol is quicker, cleaner, and anyone can aim."

Sarah felt the colour returning to her face as she eased herself back down. "Why are you doing this?"

"Did it ever cross your mind," he asked, leaning forward, "That I may not be as cruel and unusual as you make me out to be?"

It was on the tip of her tongue to say 'no'. She inhaled deeply and stared at him. It wouldn't hurt her to be nice to him when he was being so…_courteous_. "Perhaps. But I meant, _why_ are you rowing away from the dock, when Will and Gibbs are still there and we're in the last boat."

Jack swore loudly.

۞

**Author's Note: **Thank you, one and all, for the lovely reviews! I have to say that I'm immensely enjoying writing Jack again. He is truly a cinematic work of art. Review and make an author's day! Ta, loves.


	7. Silver And Gold

۞

_**Chapter Seven:**_

_Silver and Gold_

۞

The storm was had opened up upon them seemingly out of nowhere. Innocent white clouds swelled to gray monsters, and the clement breeze to gale force winds, all in the half hour following sunset. Now, the moon lent a pearly gleam to the fierce mountainous waves that hurtled themselves at the _Interceptor_, flooding her decks with stinging foamy brine and half-freezing the sailors attempting to keep her above water.

Sarah's icy fingers clumsily groped the shrouds as she tried to keep her balance. Seawater swept her feet out from under her, rainwater pelted her from above, and both blurred her vision. She squinted at the figures on deck, trying to decipher which one was Will, which one was Gibbs, and which—well, there was no reason to look for Jack. She knew where he was.

Glancing over her shoulder, she paused a moment to gape at him, grinning viciously as he stood at the helm, steering the ship with one hand and holding his 'broken' compass with the other. She was sorely tempted to smack the cheerful expression off his face, when the rest of them were scrambling around gasping for breath as they tried to save his stolen hunk of wood and canvas. Using the shrouds and the web of rigging stretched around the mast, she hoisted herself up next to him.

"_What the hell's making you so bloody happy?_" She shouted over the tempest's rage.

"_We're catching up." _His voice was hard with determination and spite.

She thought a little uneasily that he was awfully enthusiastic for someone embarking on a mission to attack a load of cursed criminals that were fundamentally indestructible. Perhaps he was as insane as she had first thought—or perhaps he was keeping something from them. Both were equally likely.

She turned and made her way back onto the main deck just as Gibbs was coming up behind her. She heard his shout, muffled by the storm: "_We should drop canvas, sir!_"

Back among the crew, she half-slid over to Will as he struggled to strap down one of the few remaining free cannons. For a brief moment she was distracted by the dark that spread beyond the ship, as it seemed to writhe in the flashes of lightning. Her right mind told her it was only the storm clouds, but its sheer vastness still frightened her.

As she came and crouched over the other side of the cannon, Will cried, "_How can we sail to an island that nobody can find, with a compass that doesn't work?_"

She grinned at him despite her freezing misery, Jack's words from the jail cell running through her head. "_Sure, the compass doesn't point north—but we're not trying to find north, are we!_"

His response, which undoubtedly would've been sarcastic, was cut off by a particularly immense wave rolling over the ship, throwing them backwards. Will managed to keep his footing by holding both the railing and the rope, but Sarah skidded backwards, virtually rolling to the other side of the deck.

She had never claimed to be as experienced as any other of the sailors. A few sailing lessons from her father hardly counted as knowledge. As she tried to gulp in air and instead gulped in water, somewhere in her mind she noted that she perhaps missed the lesson on how to stay aboard during a storm.

All the salt water and shouting to be heard had made her throat raw—her scream was a gravelly scraping sound that scarcely reached her _own_ ears. The lack of oxygen caused black spots to mar her sight—she barely made out the outline of the bulwark before it made painful contact with her side, and then the water pushed her over. Her already torn fingernails dug into the wood, and then she was falling into the distorted shadowy fog, air whistling past her flailing limbs as she seized the air with her fists.

The water was almost as hard as stone when she hit it, and just as opaque. She opened her eyes for a fleeting second, and saw nothing but black before the stinging water convinced her to close them.

_You've fallen overboard. You're in the water. _Her mind struggled to register these ideas as she instinctively panicked, struggling to reach the surface and swallowing water that she prayed would turn into air.

_You're going to drown._

The more she tried to swim, the harder the water seemed to push her downwards, compressing her body and sealing her lungs. She could feel the current of each wave as it rose and plummeted over her, and she knew she was moving further away from her only chance of rescue.

The water was suddenly so much stronger, as her exhausted limbs slowed and she let herself drift, ears roaring, thoughts fading…

Something stirred in the bleak nothing that filled her head, and it felt as though a giant cork was being pushed out of her throat. What must've been gallons of seawater came pouring from her lungs, coating her mouth with a fresh layer of salt as she choked on the unfamiliar sweetness of the air. Her hands reached out and found a solid wood surface—her eyes flew open and familiar faces slowly formed among the smudges of blue.

"She's alive," Will said, sounding relieved. Besides him, Gibbs, Anamaria, a portly looking sailor with white hair and a muscular Asian man were all surrounding her, the same look of curiosity and relief all written across their faces. But, leaning over her, water dripping from his dreadlocks and onto her face, was an exceptionally stony-faced Jack. There was a rope tied around his waist, and his hat, coat, and belt were missing.

She was torn between astonishment, dread, and gratitude—but mostly astonishment. For some reason she had thought Will was more the rescuing type. An icy coat of shame spread over her insides as she stared openmouthed at the pirate captain, who had undeniably been the one to risk his life to save what most captains would've considered a lost cause.

_And you've been absolutely rude to him the entire trip._

Words of apology and thanks rose in her throat, but just before they escaped her lips, Jack said callously, "You are hardly worth the trouble."

The abrupt warmth she had towards him diminished and died out. She placed both hands on his shoulders and shoved him, only slightly roughly, out of the way so she could sit up. She smiled thankfully up at the surrounding audience as they all helped her to her feet, and then returned to their posts. The storm seemed to have lessened already, as though possessing her for even the shortest amount of time had satisfied its thirst.

Sarah turned to Jack, who was shrugging his sodden coat back on. "Thank you for saving me," she said brokenly, hoping he would look at her, or say something to make her less angry with him. When he didn't, she added, "Next time we stop somewhere, I will be sure to get off the ship and save you _the trouble_."

۞

What sleep Sarah had that night was fitful and riddled with dreams. She would see the featureless silhouette of the _Black Pearl_, sailing into Port Royal, or struggling like the _Interceptor_ through the surging waters of the tempest—and then she would jerk up in her swinging hammock as she felt the water pressing in around her.

Finally, when the stench of the crewmen in the surrounding hammocks had become too much and sleep seemed hopeless, she rose silently as she could and tiptoed up on deck.

Faint tendrils of mist were curling around the _Interceptor_, too translucent to entirely block out the dark blue of the early morning sky, but heavy enough to smudge the ship's contour. Astern, the sea spread out clearly, but past the bowsprit there was only a dense cloud of white. She peered apprehensively into it, remembering the fog that doggedly followed the _Black Pearl _wherever it sailed.

Only two other men would be on deck—the helmsman, and the morning watch. She approached the latter and offered to take the lanky, fiery-haired man's place. He accepted graciously and ambled down the hatch, leaving her to her own machinations.

Sunlight was just peaking over the horizon, but the orb itself had yet to appear. She leaned over the bulwark and peered over the anchor at the hull. It cut through drifting fog and murky water, quiet as a whisper and neat as a knife. She eased back and gazed into the dreary weather until her watch ended and the crew slowly carried themselves up onto the deck.

"Good morning," Will greeted her. She gave him a tired smile in reply. "I didn't know it was your turn on morning watch," he exclaimed. "I would've stayed up with you."

"I took the last half of Duncan's shift," she reassured him. "And I wouldn't have let you anyways."

Will opened his mouth to reply, when his eyes suddenly averted from hers and narrowed. "Is that a ship?"

Sarah whirled around. Will was right—there was something in the fog. She stepped forward, trying to make out the gray narrow form coming in and out of focus. "Mast," she muttered. "It's a mast!"

"Coming out of the water? _A sunken ship?_"

"Mast to the le—port! _On the port side!_" Sarah's shoulders slumped in relief as she watched Anamaria steer the ship clear. "It's not the _Pearl_," she told Will as he squinted at it. "I don't think it's possible for a cursed ship to sink."

Will gave her a wondering look. "You believe in the curse?"

"You don't?"

"Pirates are superstitious…I wouldn't believe everything they say."

Sarah wrinkled her nose at him and decided to drop the subject. She had witnessed Will's stubborn streak and preferred to stay away from it. He would have to see for himself.

۞

By noon the fog was so thick it seemed almost solid, and a morose, edgy atmosphere had settled over the crew. The mast Will had spotted was not the last they would see—as Gibbs had explained, the passage they had to travel to reach Isla de Muerta was treacherous, and without a shallow draft like the _Interceptor_'s, a ship could easily collide with one of the many rocky outcrops that lingered below the surface. The sight of the countless weathered masts jutting out of the mist was proof enough. The place was a ship's graveyard.

It seemed like they had spent days in the chilling fog when the first land formations finally appeared. They were soon making their way through a maze of tiny islets, and Gibbs came over to where Will and Sarah stood by the railing and informed them that they would reach the main island soon.

"Thank god," Will muttered. Cotton's parrot chose that moment to screech, "_Dead men tell no tales!_"

Sarah shuddered.

"I know how ye feel," Gibbs said sympathetically. "Puts a chill in the bones, how many honest sailors have been claimed by this passage."

There was a short silence, and then Will suddenly asked, "How is it that Jack came by that compass?" The question was completely off topic but Sarah found herself interested right away.

Gibbs glanced over at their captain and shrugged as he adjusted a line in mooring preparation. "Not a lot's known about Jack Sparrow before he showed up in Tortuga with a mind to go after the treasure of the Isla de Muerta. That was before I met 'im, back when he was captain of the _Black Pearl_." He took a swig of the substance in his canteen, and then nearly choked on it as Will and Sarah both cried out in astonishment.

"What?" Will said angrily. "He failed to mention _that_."

"Ah, well, he plays things close to the vest now," Gibbs said in a soothing tone, "And a hard-learned lesson it was. See, three days out on the venture, the first mate comes to him and says everything's an equal share as should be the location of the treasure, too." They all exchanged knowing looks, Sarah and Will kneeling down with Gibbs, both listening intently. "So," Gibbs continued, "Jack gives up the bearings. That night, there was a _mutiny_." Sarah flinched at the harshness of the word, as pity dawned on her countenance. The man that was their captain abruptly made sense to her.

"They marooned Jack on an island and left him to die—but not before he'd gone mad with hate!"

"Ah," Will said understandingly. "So that's the reason for all the…" He did an exaggerated imitation of Jack's elaborate hand gestures, and Sarah inadvertently giggled.

"Reason's got nothing t'do with it," Gibbs replied gravely. "Now, when a man is marooned, he's a given a pistol with a single shot—one shot! Well, it won't do much good hunting or to be rescued. But after three weeks of starvin' belly and thirst—" He gestured crudely with his fingers, like a man holding a pistol to his temple. "—That pistol starts to look _real_ friendly. But Jack made it off the island and he still has that one shot! Oh, but he won't use it though, save on one man." Gibbs grinned unpleasantly. "His mutinous first mate."

"Barbossa," Sarah nodded.

"Aye."

"How did Jack get off the island?"

"Well, I'll tell ye." His eyes sparked as something akin to pride came over his features. "He waded out into the shallows, and there he waited three days and three nights—till _all_ manner of sea creature came and acclimated to his presence. And on the fourth morning he roped himself a couple of sea turtles, _lashed_ them all together and made a raft!"

Will and Sarah stared at their narrator dumbly. "He roped a couple of sea turtles," Will repeated blankly.

Sarah had a sinking feeling. She was sorely reminded of the story about the tribe of midgets—the one that landed her in jail.

"Aye, sea turtles." Gibbs smiled with honest admiration.

"What did he use for rope?" Will asked cynically, and Gibbs looked stumped. Sarah almost wished Will wouldn't spoil the story for the man. She would rather believe it and be happy than think of Jack as a liar.

_Oh, but he is. Love._

"Human hair," said a familiar voice, and they all turned to stare at the man of the hour. Jack looked down on them all with raised eyebrows. "From my back."

Gibbs grinned, his confidence in his captain restored.

"Let go the anchor!" Jack ordered, ending Will and Sarah's little story session. "Young Mr. Turner and I are to go ashore."

The crew rushed to follow his command, but Sarah lagged behind unenthusiastically. Contradicting all her earlier fears, she felt curiously left out to think that Jack and Will were going to, with any luck, save Elizabeth without her. They had done everything else together so far; she had hoped they created a sort of trio.

Gibbs brushed past her, interrupting her disappointed reverie.

"Captain! What if the worst should happen?" He asked Jack, and the pirate gave him a fleeting look.

"Keep to the code," Jack said with quiet conviction.

"Aye, the code," Gibbs agreed heartily, and Sarah stepped forward as Jack moved away.

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"Oh, lass—well, I meant if he or Will should die along the way—"

Sarah was already marching away. She half-stomped across deck to where Will and Jack were climbing down into a jolly boat, and then towered over them. "I'm going with you."

"Oh god," Jack groaned, massaging his temple. "Sarah…Miss Burke, please," he smiled at her with false sweetness. "It would be much _smarter_ of you to stay here. Out of danger. Out of the way."

Ignoring him, she hitched up her skirts and began climbing down the bulwark.

Sarah had never done anything extraordinarily brave. She had never stood up to her enemies at school. She had never jumped off the high board. She had never dressed anything but low-key.

She had never been amazingly popular. Her father was dead, her mother and sisters barely knew her—the total amount of phone numbers in her agenda added up to, _maybe_, five.

There was quite literally nothing to lose.

"Sarah, you don't even have anything to protect yourself with," Will pointed out pleadingly.

She paused. As much as her inner hero wanted to fight the good fight and die a noble death, the intelligent half of her mind thought a weapon sounded just fine. "Give me your gun," she ordered the sailor holding the line to cast off the boat—Duncan.

With a wary glance at Jack, he handed it to her. She shoved it in her belt and stepped down into the boat, taking a seat beside Will and exhaling loudly.

"Women," the pirate muttered irritably. Sarah stuck up her chin and disregarded the comment. As Jack rowed rhythmically towards the gaping cave in the center island, she clutched the plank she sat on with white fingers and silently begged herself to not be afraid. It almost worked; instead of feeling frightened, a sort of numb sensation washed over her and she felt nothing at all.

They passed a particularly large outcrop of rocks, and another ship came into view on the other side of the cove. This one, unlike the prim Interceptor, seemed to belong amidst the soupy fog, with tattered its black sails and a decrepit appearance that Jack appeared to find painful to look at. Reluctantly he got out his telescope and scanned the _Black Pearl_'s deck.

"Is she there?" Will asked desperately.

"No," Jack replied, closing his telescope and frowning.

"Where is she?"

"It's begun."

۞

The inside of cave was, oddly enough, less frightening than the outside. Sarah stared around at the rocky, algae-covered walls of the grotto as they shone in the dim light of the lantern Will was holding out in front of them. She could easily imagine a mermaid sitting on the rocky platforms that lined the water, the reflection of her scales blending with the reflection of the treasure-littered water. Truly, Sarah had never seen so much gold—the pirates who used the cave appeared to have gotten clumsy, and if they could afford to waste this much, Sarah could scarcely imagine what lay ahead. She gaped down at the glittering doubloons, warped from spheres to radical zigzags in the translucent water.

Thus far, the only noise had been the rustle of the water as Jack disturbed its glassy surface with the oars. Will's voice was slightly higher than usual when he spoke up and broke into the silence.

"What code is Gibbs to keep to if the worst should happen?"

"Pirate's code," Jack replied easily. "Any man that falls behind is left behind."

Will's mouth twisted bitterly. "No heroes among thieves, eh?"

Unfazed, Jack answered, "You know, for having such a bleak outlook on pirates, you're well on your way to becoming one. Sprung a man from jail," Jack listed, "Commandeered a ship of the Fleet, sailed with a buccaneer crew out of Tortuga…" He leaned over Sarah's shoulder, and she realized Will had been looking at the coins below them as well. "And," Jack finished with a smile, "You're completely obsessed with treasure."

Sarah couldn't help but laugh, though she did it quietly so not to cause an echo. Jack grinned at her, and they exchanged doubtful looks as Will muttered indignantly, "That's not true." They scrambled up the abrupt slope of the cave floor, one after the other. "I am _not_ obsessed with treasure."

Sarah was the first up, loose gold digging into her palms as she climbed up and kneeled down on the ledge, staring through the nature-made window that let her look into the core of the cave system. What she saw sent an unexpected thrill through her veins.

A collection of the filthiest, fiercest looking men she had ever seen were spread around one point in the cavern, all shouting and punching the air with clenched fists. The center point was a high mound of treasure mixed with sand, and standing atop it was a disheveled Elizabeth, dressed in a striking dark gown, her tawny hair tumbling over her shoulders as she leaned forward over an ancient-looking stone chest. Beside her, an older man with a twisted smile had his arm raised over the gigantic feathered hat on his head. He was wearing a captain's cloak.

_Barbossa. _She felt a swell of loathing and fear grow in the pit of her stomach. There was a knife in his hand.

"Not all treasure is silver and gold, love," Jack whispered to her as he came up beside her, Will after him.

"Gentlemen," Barbossa cried, his voice a hard, accented growl. "The time has come!" The men cheered. "Salvation is nigh!" Their cheering grew louder. "Our torment is near an end!"

"Elizabeth," Will gasped, instinctively moving forward and pushing a few doubloons off the ledge. Jack put a hand on his shoulder and shoved him backwards.

Barbossa continued. "For ten years we've been tested and tried, and each one of you here has proved his mettle a hundred times over—" The cursed men roared. "—And a hundred times again!"

"Suffered, I have!" Someone from the crowd called out.

"Punished we were," Barbossa agreed passionately. "The lot of us—disproportionate to our crime! Here it is—" He shoved the stone lid off the chest, making Elizabeth jump. Her expression of stubborn dislike slipped a little. "The cursed treasure of Cortés himself! Every last piece that went astray we have returned…save for this." He thrust a finger at the medallion around Elizabeth's neck.

Jack suddenly slipped down the slant and started down one of the torch-lit passages. "Jack!" Will exclaimed, he and Sarah going after him.

"Not yet," Jack said suddenly, pivoting on the spot to face Will. "We wait…for the _opportune_ moment." He started to head away again.

"When's that?" Will inquired angrily. "When it's of greatest profit to you?"

Jack's eyes bulged as he came so close to Will that their noses were almost touching. "May I ask you something?" He paused, his hands poised. "Have I ever given you reason not to trust me? Do us a favor," a smile flitted across his features as he rattled on, "I know it's difficult for you but please, _stay here_…and try not to do anything…" He seemed to be searching for the right word, then suddenly finished with, "Stupid."

Sarah and Will stood frozen as Jack disappeared into the shadows. Sarah could hear Barbossa and the crew's zealous yells in the distance.

"That's it," Will said, grinding his teeth. He seized up an oar from the boat and started after Jack, Sarah skipping worriedly at his heels.

"Will, Jack said to wait—he said to stay here—we should listen—"

"Wait by the boat," Will ordered.

"No!"

He turned on her and shook her. "_Just go!_" He glared her down until she scrambled backwards and ran in the direction of the boat. When she got to the water, she quivering from head to foot, tears in her eyes, wondering what on earth she had gotten herself into.

She didn't want to think about what Will might to do Jack—she knew he wouldn't go as far as killing him—but would the blacksmith bother to save the pirate once he had gotten his girl?

"Oh my god," Sarah whispered. "Oh god, oh god, _oh god_…"

Swallowing back her tears, she crawled up the slope.

۞

**Author's Note: **Another glowing thanks to all my reviewers! I hope you enjoyed this installment.


	8. Conflict

۞

_**Chapter Eight:**_

_Conflict_

۞

Sarah peered anxiously as Will appeared around the bend of the tunnel, Elizabeth at his side, both of them dripping wet. She had decided to sit in the boat while she waited for them, preferring not to watch as the pirates spread out to search for them. All courageous facades aside, she wanted to be as close to their means of exiting as possible.

The tiny craft wobbled a bit as Will and Elizabeth hurriedly stepped inside, and Will picked up the oars to start rowing. Sarah's eyes went wide and she grabbed his arm to stop him.

"Where's Jack?"

"There's no time, Sarah." He tugged the limb away without looking at her and began to push off. Sarah leaned forward as though she were about to jump out.

"_Where is he?_"

"Jack?" Elizabeth exclaimed heatedly, staring at Will. "Jack Sparrow? And his accomplice?"

Sarah asked again, tone menacing, "Where is he, Will?"

"You joined up with _pirates_ to rescue me?"

"He's not coming with us!" Will finally answered Sarah in a loud whisper, and gave Elizabeth a pleading look. "We don't have time to sit here and argue, Miss Burke; either you're coming with us, or you're not."

The look on his face told her that his threat was empty. Will was too much of a gentleman to leave her to face a crew of vicious murderers. Reluctantly, she leaned back onto her seat. If Sarah's suspicions were correct and Will had overpowered Jack, there wasn't much she could do to protect him anyways.

But that was only an excuse to make herself feel better. She gazed in pale contemplation at the sandy bank as it disappeared into the darkness. The harsh light of the fog suddenly reappeared at the end of the tunnel, like a solid sheet of churning gray.

The _Interceptor_ bobbed lifelessly ahead of them, its crew looking equally as inanimate as the three companions climbed aboard, Elizabeth first and Sarah just after her. "Not more pirates," the girl groaned.

"Welcome aboard, Miss Elizabeth," Gibbs said cheerfully.

"Mr. Gibbs?" She gaped at him in disbelief, but he ignored her

"Hey, boy, where be Jack?" The quartermaster asked as Will appeared over the bulwark.

The blacksmith glanced around, exhaling heavily. "He fell behind," he answered simply, guiding Elizabeth below deck. The crewmen's upset, bewildered countenances lasted only a moment before Gibbs muttered, "Keep to the code."

"_Weigh anchor! Hoist the sails!_"

Sarah watched as Isla de Muerta was slowly but surely coated with another layer of fog, and then another, until it was all but lost to the mist. Then, turning on her heel, she wrenched open the hatch and stomped down the stairs.

Will had lit some candles and sat dressing the wound on Elizabeth's palm. They spoke softly, as though afraid of being overheard.

_Rightly so, _Sarah thought as she paused on the stairs and listened.

"What sort of a man trades a man's life for a ship?" Elizabeth demanded as she fumbled with what looked like a torn piece of fabric, trying to wrap it around her hand.

"A pirate," Will replied with a small smile. "Here, let me." He gently took the injured appendage and began winding the bandage around it. "You said you gave Barbossa my name as yours…why?"

Sarah smirked inwardly.

"I don't know," Elizabeth replied elusively, then let out a gasp of pain and pulled away.

"I'm sorry," Will apologized. "Blacksmith's hands, I know they're rough."

"No," Elizabeth denied hurriedly. "I mean, yes, they are—but—" She paused, stumbling over her words, gazing at him. "But don't stop."

Sarah turned away respectfully as her two unaware companions met each other's eyes and leaned forward instinctively.

Will whispered Elizabeth's name, and then there was silence for a split second. Sarah turned back hesitantly. They were now slightly farther apart, and Will was holding the cursed medallion on Elizabeth's necklace, that she had somehow managed to keep.

"It's yours," she confessed, pulling it off her neck and handing it to him, chain and all.

Will stared at it, lost in memory. "I thought I'd lost it the day they rescued me," He said absently. "It was a gift from my father—he sent it to me." He looked up at her, a new fierceness in his expression. "Why did you take it?"

Elizabeth glanced down shamefully. When she replied, her voice was choked. "Because I was afraid you were a pirate." She looked beseechingly at him. "That would've been awful."

"It wasn't your blood they needed," Will started, brow furrowed. "It was my blood…my father's blood…" He slammed his fist down on the table. "The blood of a pirate!"

Elizabeth struggled for words, her eyes shining with tears. "Will, I'm so sorry, _please_ forgive me," she said quickly, then rose and marched towards the stairs. Sarah ducked behind the railing as the girl passed, then stepped out and cautiously approached Will. As she watched him, her anger slowly dissipated. Perhaps he was dealing with too much at the moment—but…

"Will?"

He didn't look up. "I suppose you heard all of that," he said weakly.

Sarah nodded, and then realizing he wasn't looking at her, murmured a 'yes'.

When he said nothing, she started quietly, "Will, when you said Jack wasn't coming with us, did you mean—" She paused, searching for the right words. "Did you mean _he_ decided not to come with us, or _you_…decided…he wouldn't come with us?"

"I didn't kill him, if that's what you mean."

Sarah was surprised at the relief that washed over her. She hadn't really thought Will would do something like that, had she?

"Why do you care so much, anyways?"

"Because, it's…It's not right," she answered feebly, not really prepared for the question. "Jack's the one that helped us get here, and he's the captain—and he's been with us the whole way. Don't you even feel a little strange that he's not here now?"

"He was going to buy a ship back with my life—so no, I don't."

The pit of Sarah's stomach flared. Will wouldn't even look at her. "You don't really think Jack would do that," she said skeptically. "Just by what he said in Tortuga—"

Will raised his head at last, looking her straight in the eye. "What he said in Tortuga fits exactly into that," the blacksmith cut in angrily. "And Barbossa was looking for the child of _William Turner_—Elizabeth said it seemed he would do anything to find my father's child. What better way to have Jack's obsession returned to him than me?"

"Jack was friends with your father," Sarah protested. "He wouldn't just betray him like that!"

"He knew his full name—that isn't any sort of testimony to them being amiable towards each other! They could've loathed one another! Besides, Jack's mad, how could you know what he would or would not do? Why are you protecting him? You never seemed to enjoy his company much in any case."

"Just because we didn't necessarily get along doesn't mean I hated him! I figured someone should stand up for him since he can't, now that you've abandoned him to the mercy of his worst enemy!"

"He's a _pirate_!" Will thundered, rising to his feet.

"So are_ you_!" Sarah's chest heaved as she and Will stared each other down in the taut silence.

"Will?" A soft voice from the hatch made both of them pivot on the spot. Elizabeth was staring at them in astonishment, embarrassment written obviously over her features. "I just wanted to—sorry, I'll—"

"No," Sarah interrupted. "I was just leaving." With a final cold stare at Will, she marched past Elizabeth and onto the main deck.

۞

The _Interceptor _seemed to have finally distanced itself from the massive patch of fog that surrounded the cursed ship. The hot afternoon sun reflected blindingly off the water, warming Sarah's limbs and forcing her to shield her eyes as she glanced back at the receding island.

"Don't let your guard down just yet, lass," a grave voice said at her side. Gibbs restlessly eyed the thick obscuring cloud that hid their enemy from them. "Barbossa's not known to give up easily."

"But this is supposed to be the fastest ship in the Caribbean," Sarah exclaimed, unconsciously taking a step back.

"Aye," Gibbs agreed. "_Supposed_ to."

And then as though playing off their words, a great black shadow stirred just beyond the fog bank. First a bowsprit, then a gray rotund hull, and then the stretching web of a tattered black sail emerged, soundless as a ghost, gliding over the water with unnatural speed. It was almost as though the fog had given birth to a terrifying inhuman ship.

"Hands aloft to loose topgallants!" Gibbs ordered gruffly, sending the crew into a flurry of activity. "With this wind she'll carry every sail we've got."

"What's happened?" Elizabeth cried, running up onto the quarterdeck. Sarah saw Will step out of the hatch right after her.

"The _Black Pearl_," Anamaria replied at the helm, "She's gaining on us."

Elizabeth stared at her, and then at the _Pearl_, disbelievingly. "This is the fastest ship in the Caribbean!"

"You can tell them that after they've caught us," Sarah told her weakly, eyes glued to the approaching vessel.

Elizabeth cast her an exasperated glance, then said to Anamaria, "We're shallower on the draft, right?"

"Aye."

"Then can't we lose them amongst those shoals?" She gestured to a nearby island, the waters surrounding it spotted with sandbanks and reefs.

Gibbs grinned enthusiastically at her. "We don't have to outrun 'em long—just long enough!"

Anamaria nodded in agreement. "Lighten the ship!" She barked. "Stem to stern!"

"Anything we can afford to lose, see that it's lost!" Gibbs added, throwing himself vigorously into the bustling crew to help. Sarah quickly followed, heaving barrels, ammo, even clothes overboard, carefully avoiding the sight of the _Pearl_. A squirming fear that made her hands shake had swelled in the pit of her stomach at the thought of a battle. The only thing she wanted was to get as far away from Barbossa as possible.

She was helping a crewmember unfasten a cannon when Will put a foot on it to stop them. He gave Sarah an anxious look. "We're going to need that." Sarah stared up at him, then pivoted around to face the _Pearl_.

As though they weren't already going fast enough, they had brought out the oars and were rowing in perfect unison towards the _Interceptor_.

"It was a good plan," Sarah heard Anamaria say. "Until now."

Will grimaced, then leapt off the cannon and made his way over to the helm, Sarah on his tail. "Gibbs! We have to make a stand," Will insisted. "We must fight!"

"With what?" Anamaria inquired hopelessly.

"Anything—everything!" He gestured to the main deck. "Anything we have left."

Gibbs hesitated for a moment, then the corner of his mouth turned up and he nodded. "Load the guns! …Nails and crushed glass! …Anything ye find!"

The cannons were loaded with the most bizarre assortment of accoutrements Sarah had ever seen: shoes, cutlery—even Gibbs' flask. He returned to the helm looking as unconfident as ever.

"The Pearl's going to luff up on our port quarter," He observed. "She'll rake us without ever presentin' a target."

Elizabeth, who had remained silent since her ideas on the Interceptor's capability had been rebutted, turned and stared at them all, her expression unreadable. "Lower the anchor on the right side," she ordered firmly. "On the starboard side!"

"It certainly has the element of surprise," Will commented, shrugging his support.

Anamaria gaped in incredulity. "You're daft, lady! You both are!"

Sarah couldn't help herself. Maybe it was the nerves—maybe it was the fact that she was about to participate in a pirate battle—either way, she let out a bark of laughter and smiled at them all. "Daft like Jack," she exclaimed.

Gibbs' face abruptly flooded with pride, and he turned to the crew, his shoulders squared. "Lower the starboard anchor!" The sailors froze in bewilderment. "Do it ya dogs—or it's you we'll be loading into the cannons!"

There was a great rush as they all moved forward to follow his orders, and then a silence as everyone watched the anchor line disappear into the water.

Sarah cast a glance behind her. The Black Pearl was so close she could almost see the expressions of the pirates aboard it, and almost smell the reeking sweat and mildew that hung in the air around them. They all stared straight back at her, eyes narrowed and lips curled—

A giant lurch passed through the Interceptor as the anchor caught, causing Sarah to stumble over her own feet.

"Let go!" Elizabeth shouted, and Anamaria took her hands off the wheel. It spun around, and the ship quickly followed. Sarah clutched the railing as they were swung to the right, and suddenly the _Black Pearl_ was directly alongside them. She too was swinging about, to avoid being struck by the _Interceptor_. They had caught their pursuers completely by surprise.

The crews of both ships hollered insults at each other, crying for one another's blood, the vicious snarls from the _Pearl_ and the heated calls for revenge from the _Interceptor _blending into one grinding roar.

"Now!"

"Fire!"

"_Fire!_"

Sarah was shoved backwards as her cannon fired with a resounding boom, tendrils of heavy smoke slipping out of its barrel. The air was thick with the scent of gunpowder and salt as each cannon went off, its contents burrowing into the other ship's side with a splintering crack.

The Black Pearl was quickly reloading after each explosion, while the Interceptor's crew struggled to find more ammunition that would actually harm the enemy vessel. Sarah watched over the thick protective wood of the bulwark as several men from the _Pearl_ flung grappling hooks across the void between the ships, grinning as the hooks caught on the _Interceptor_'s lines and held fast.

She fingered the unfamiliar framework of the pistol stuck into her belt, that Gibbs had supplied her with earlier. She had thought—or rather hoped—she wouldn't need it.

Elizabeth had knelt down beside her and was reloading her own pistol already. She grinned weakly at the sight of Sarah's wide eyes. "Desperate times," the governor's daughter supplied.

"I've never used a gun before," Sarah confessed.

Elizabeth gave her a steady look. "Nor have I."

In that moment Sarah had the utmost respect for her companion, a modern women repressed by the past. Sarah had never been as bold or as confident, because she had never had to. And here was Elizabeth, living in a time where it was _frowned_ upon for her to be bold and confident, and yet that was what made her up entirely.

"We could use a few more ideas, lass!" Gibbs' distracted voice cut into their silent conversation as he and Anamaria joined them behind the railing. They were both still shooting.

"Your turn!" Elizabeth shouted back over the gunfire.

"We need us a devil's dowry."

Anamaria grabbed Elizabeth by the shoulder and pushed her back, aiming her pistol at the younger girl's temple. "We'll give 'em her!" Elizabeth stiffened, her jaw protruding in quiet anger.

Sarah gave Will a grateful smile as he cut in. "She's not what they're after."

Anamaria released her hold and Elizabeth felt at her throat. "The medallion," she gasped, and Sarah remembered the necklace she had given Will below deck. He jumped up and made for the hatch, disappearing into the fight now taking place on deck.

Elizabeth and Sarah exchanged glances. "Take my back," the former said by way of a suggestion.

Sarah bit her lip. "Alright."

۞

**Author's Note: **Sincere apologies for the long wait! Total lack of inspiration added to a Harry Potter state of mind does not equal pirates, as you can tell by this inferior chapter. But a huge thanks to my reviewers, nonetheless!


	9. Spitting Image and A Spit Of Land

۞

_**Chapter Nine:**_

_Spitting Image and A Spit of Land_

۞

Sarah's face twisted in disgust as the pungent taste of vomit climbed up her throat. Her body arched in anticipation before the hardtack she had eaten for breakfast flew from her mouth over the side of the ship.

The man had been less than two metres in front of her—she could see the slippery coat of grime on his teeth. The target was impossible to miss. It was enough to witness the unnatural jerk of his body as the bullet struck his side, but to watch as he shook himself and kept coming forward had literally made her knees buckle. Elizabeth had pushed her aside just in time, slashing her sword downwards to finish the pirate off. At least for the time being.

"Are you alright?" She asked breathlessly, as Sarah wiped her mouth with her shirtsleeve. Elizabeth gave her a sympathetic smile. "It's not as bad when they don't actually die," she said kindly, and Sarah managed a laugh.

"Look out!"

The scent of burning gunpowder was in the air before Elizabeth had time to turn around. The man just behind her grimaced, feeling for the singed hole at the base of his neck, then toppled forward.

Sarah dropped her pistol and turned around to throw up again. Elizabeth kneeled down beside her with a shudder. "Thank you," she said, exhaling loudly. The breath was quickly turned to a gasp as a high whistling reached Sarah's ears, and among the snarling, grating noises of battle she heard the piercing splinter of wood. "Down!" Elizabeth ordered, as an immense shadow blocked out the sun and something hit the deck of the Interceptor with a force that shook Sarah to the bone.

Her heart racing, she scrambled up to find the main mast broken at the base, the huge sail torn and ruined. Its sheer length reached across the gap between the two ships, creating a narrow bridge.

"_Shit_," Sarah enunciated loudly, but was given no time to elaborate as a wild-eyed member of Barbossa's crew lunged at her, cutlass raised. Sarah's jaw went slack as she groped blindly for a weapon—she had dropped her gun, she had no sword, no dagger…

In slow motion, it seemed, the man's hand began to move down towards her, his toothy grin widening.

"That's not very nice."

"Jack!" Sarah exclaimed in relief, and Elizabeth in an entirely less pleasant tone, as said man knocked the advancing pirate out cold. Sarah grinned enthusiastically at him, comforted almost to the point of ridiculousness that he was still alive. She was about to hurriedly apologize when he shoved both her and Elizabeth down behind the railing and demanded, "Where's the medallion?"

Elizabeth leaned forward and brought her hand up to slap him across the face. "Wretch!" She spat as he caught her wrist. He eyed the bandage wound around her palm knowingly. "Ah, where is dear William?"

"Will," Elizabeth breathed, suddenly wide-eyed. Her gaze moved from Jack's smirk to the hatch, where Will had disappeared to search for the cursed piece of gold—the fallen mast lay directly on top of it. Will was trapped.

Elizabeth dashed away, and Sarah was about to follow. "Jack," she started, stumbling through her mind as she searched for the right words. "I'm sorry," she finally yelled, trying to be heard over the surrounding noise.

"For what?"

"For leaving you behind," she replied.

He stared at her strangely, as though she were sprouting an extra nose. She gave him a feeble smile of apology and rushed away.

۞

The ropes Barbossa's crew used to bind them around the _Pearl_'s mast burrowed into Sarah's flesh, stinging like the carpet rash she had gotten when she was seven. The entire crew was tied up around her, save Jack, to whom Barbossa had appointed two personal guards. There would be no escaping this time around.

The mast had been too heavy to lift off of the hatch, even with both Elizabeth and Sarah straining until their arms ached. The last they had seen of Will was a shadowed silhouette, shining with seawater as he desperately called Elizabeth's name. Barbossa had ordered his ship to move away from the devastated _Interceptor_, and now they all stood in silence, anticipation thinning the air, staring at a drifting, broken ship.

"If any of you so much as _thinks_ the word parley, I'll have your guts for garters." One of the men strolling around the captives snarled, fondling his pistol with one hand and grasping the hilt of his sheathed cutlass with the other. Sarah inclined her head towards Elizabeth who was tied next to her, and was about to ask just what 'parley' meant, when she realized what the girl was doing.

Elizabeth had pushed against the ropes until they were forced to loosen, and now she was pulling them up over her head, easily slipping underneath. She started towards Barbossa, her hostile stride speaking for itself, when a blast of hot air pushed them all backwards.

The Interceptor had exploded in an enormous ball of fire, sending splintered planks flying through the air towards them. Miniscule parts of their former ship splashed around the _Pearl_, as the rest of the Interceptor vanished below the steadily even surface of the water. It was as though nothing had ever been there—no ship, no crew—

_Will_.

Sarah twisted against the burn of the rope. It felt as though her insides had dropped straight through a hole in her stomach and she was completely void of all feeling. _Will, Will, Will…_ She vaguely heard Elizabeth's scream of rage as she lunged at Barbossa, pounding him with powerless fists as he laughed.

"Welcome back, Miss," he drawled, his scratchy, arrogant voice echoing in Sarah's ears. "You took advantage of our hospitality last time—it holds fair now that you return the favor." He thrust Elizabeth backwards into the twitching hands of his awaiting crew. Sarah had to tear her watering eyes away as they let their filthy fingers travel down her dress, her shrieks going ignored.

"Barbossa!"

"Hell," Sarah whimpered, as Will's soaking figure appeared on the railing, perfectly stable and very much alive. He jumped onto the deck and snatched up a pistol, pointing it square in Barbossa's face.

"She goes free," he commanded, his eyes blazing.

"What's in your head, boy?"

Just as her hopes had begun to rise, Sarah felt them fall at Barbossa's unworried tone.

"She goes free!"

The captain smirked. "You've only got one shot, and we can't die," he pointed out.

"Don't do anything stupid," Jack whispered from the crowd of bewildered pirates, and Sarah gave him an exasperated look, though of course he didn't see it.

But Will wasn't slowed by this fact at all. He took two steps backward and leapt back up onto the bulwark, the gun now pointed at his own jaw. "You can't," he agreed. "I can."

Sarah would have slapped her forehead if her hand were free. "Like that."

"Who are you?" Barbossa asked in irritation.

Jack rushed from his captor's sides, scrambling up in front of Barbossa. "No one! He's no one. Distant cousin of my aunt's nephew—twice removed." He waved his hands about demonstratively. "Lovely singing voice, though," the man added with a wink. "Eunuch."

Sarah blinked, hardly having enough time to take in that incredible statement when Will spoke up. "My name is Will Turner," He announced. "My father was Bootstrap Bill Turner. His blood runs in my veins!"

There was a shocked silence, and then a pirate from the crew called out frantically, "He's a spittin' image of ol' Bootstrap Bill, come back to 'aunt us!"

"On my word, do as I say," Will continued, looking only at Barbossa. "Or I'll pull this trigger, and be lost to Davey Jones' locker."

Barbossa eyed the blacksmith calculatingly, as if to judge whether the young man would really keep his word. Finally he said, "Name your terms, Mr. Turner."

"Elizabeth goes free," Will blurted out quickly, then surprised Sarah by adding, "And Sarah! They are both to be set free."

Barbossa glanced over at the crew, and met Sarah's gaze. She shuddered and looked away. "Anythin' else?" Barbossa inquired.

Out of the corner of her eye, Sarah saw Jack gesturing wildly to himself.

"The crew!" Will finished. "The crew are not to be harmed."

Jack's face crumpled, and Barbossa's lips curled back in a particularly nasty smile. "Agreed."

۞

There must've been thousands of uncharted islands in the Caribbean. Mere specks of land, more rocky outcroppings than actual islands, decorating the Spanish Main like freckles decorate a face. Islands near impossible to locate a second time in your life.

This was one of those islands.

Sarah had read that the literal act of 'walking the plank' was only a myth, something made up over centuries of twisting and romanticizing the life of pirates—something that never _actually_ happened. But as she teetered, horror-struck, on the end of a long flat piece of timber that jutted out the side of the _Pearl_, she realized that she couldn't rely on what reality had taught her. This wasn't reality. This was a goddamned _novel_.

Some how that hadn't quite sunken in yet.

With the jeers of the Pearl's crew behind her, she stared down at the blue depths below with strangely dry eyes. A part of her mind was telling her she should be weeping on her knees, begging for mercy. It told her she could very well die if she was left here; the slow, excruciatingly painful death by starvation—there could be no fresh water, and she could collapse within three days of thirst—or she could become so desperate that she would drink the seawater and become violently sick, then die anyways.

And still she didn't shed a tear. She was terrified, yes—but more than that, she was furious. Barbossa was possibly the most revolting, blemished, power-hungry human being she had ever encountered. Her gut was squirming with the intense need to punch him in the face. And all she could do was wobble on the end of this _stupid_ piece of wood and manage to look frightened.

"Off you go!" Sarah's legs trembled as the heavy vibrations of someone stomping on the plank passed through her body. She shot a look back at the crowd on deck.

Elizabeth, pale and silent, was standing at the railing, her hands held behind her back by a member of the crew as she waited her turn. She gave Sarah a concentrated, fiery-eyed look, encouraging her to be brave.

"Barbossa, you lying bastard!" And Will, of course, was fighting tooth and nail against his captors, the gag that had temporarily silenced him hanging loose around his neck as he attempted to lunge at the _Pearl_'s captain. The two or three men posing as guards only barely managed to stop him. "You swore they'd go free!"

Barbossa turned sharply to look at the younger man. "Don't _dare_ impugn me honour, boy," He snapped. "I agreed they'd go free, but it was you who failed to specify when or where." His sentence trailed off into a dry, mocking laugh as he turned back to Sarah. "Though it does seem a shame to lose something so fine, don't it, lads?"

The men all grunted their agreement, and Barbossa grinned at her, his fingers playing absently with the retrieved medallion. She was forced to look away again as his shining eyes seemed to almost violate her with their sharpness. Her gaze desperately wandered over to the drooping form of Jack Sparrow.

Sarah found it hard to believe that he had once captained the men around him, with their vicious leers and raucous laughing. He seemed so utterly out of place that Sarah would've found it even funny if she had been in any other position. He managed one of his eccentric smirks as they eyed each other, rather like friendly rivals, though what they could possibly be fighting about Sarah couldn't imagine.

She understood somewhere in the back of her mind that, now that Will had reached Elizabeth, he had in a way left she and Jack to their own devices. She dared not employ the term 'partners in crime' so prematurely. Firstly, Jack seemed to acutely prefer himself to any other company, and secondly, she wasn't entirely sure if she would even call him a friend yet. He had helped her as often as he had hindered her—though she supposed saving her life should be considered more than just 'helping'.

An impatient outcry from her captors reminded her that this was probably not the best time to analyze her relationships.

"Off with you!" Barbossa ordered. She started to turn around so she could deliver a biting retort, but as she did her shoe caught on the hem of the skirt she still wasn't used to wearing, and she stumbled.

With a startled shriek, she toppled over into the water, the cool liquid hitting her body with a painful slap. Brine poured into her open mouth, and for a moment she was panicking, the cloudy darkness that had been present on the night of the storm consuming her thoughts. Then as quickly as it had come it was gone, and she burst through the surface.

Gasping for air, she looked upwards to see the exaggeratedly tall form of Elizabeth above her. She managed to swim out of the way just before the young woman landed next to her, sending another painful wave of salt water across her eyes. When she surfaced, Sarah realized she was now only wearing her shift.

_Really quick today, aren't we,_ she thought as she tugged off her shoes while treading water, then her skirt and petticoats, and finally ripped off the laces of her bodice. Once the unnecessary articles of clothing were sinking to the sea floor, she exchanged encouraging smiles with Elizabeth and started towards the island.

۞

They reached the shoals sooner than Sarah had expected; she had continued swimming for several minutes before she realized Elizabeth was walking a little ways away. Sarah had taught herself to swim at a lake her family visited in the summer, and had never actually had proper lessons, so the activity was slightly more arduous for her than other people. With a relieved wheeze, she stepped onto the pillowy layer of sand that made up the ocean floor and decided to take a short break to catch her breath.

Then she clearly heard the splashing behind her and remembered just who was there.

In all honesty, she hadn't taken time to think about the fate of her fellow crewmembers, not after Barbossa had made public his intensions to set her and Elizabeth 'free' by means of marooning them. So when she heard something else land in the water and glanced back to find Jack jumping into a neat swan dive after his pistol, she had been caught a little off guard. Straight from the tap of her imagination, she had thought Barbossa would save Jack for a more brutal fate, after the curse was lifted. It hadn't occurred to her that Barbossa would attempt to strand the man a second time.

_But then again, what are the odds of _escaping_ a second time?_

By the time the three companions had reached the shoreline, Jack was only a few metres behind Sarah, the loud slaps of his feet against wet sand eloquent and distinct.

"That's the second time I've had to watch that man sail away with my ship," he said bitterly, to no one in particular.

An idea suddenly occurred to Sarah. She hesitantly asked, "Is this the same island as last time?"

Jack glanced over his shoulder at her with a cynical smile. "Of course." Then in a mocking tone he continued, "This is the island they made me governor of on their _last_ trip…Well, I'll show 'em what they can be governor of…that's what…" He stomped up onto the dry sand, muttering vehemently under his breath.

"Come on," Elizabeth said tiredly, gesturing lengthwise to the beach. "He'll need to be left alone with his hat for a while."

Sarah found a grin somewhere within herself and followed.

۞

"It's not so bad," Sarah decided, running a lazy hand through her hair. She had never seen colours so fresh and untainted—from the sapphirine hue of the water, to the honeyed tan of the sand, to the dark glittering greens of the palm fronds. The island was long and narrow, mostly made up of forest that grew sparser near the ends. The beach surrounding the trees was clean and soft—undisturbed by human movement. Sarah thought it was the most beautiful and relaxing place she had ever been, and it would be a nice place to starve to death.

"The island, or being stranded on the island?" Elizabeth asked lightly.

"I don't know. Both." Sarah sighed resignedly. "Somehow it doesn't seem…_final _enough. I don't feel like I'll die here."

Elizabeth raised her eyebrows. "What were you expecting exactly, a insightful chill? Gathering storm clouds? Perhaps a freshly dug grave?"

"Don't be so morbid," Sarah complained. "I hardly know you well enough to let you get away with it."

Elizabeth laughed quietly. "You have plenty of time to get to know me now. Though quite honestly I would rather be off this island and not know you at all." She gave Sarah a sideways grin to make up for the callous remark.

"No offense taken," Sarah forgave her easily. "I am perfectly happy knowing that we will _both_ have to deal with Jack." She eyed the pirate with irked amusement as he came back into sight around the bend of the island.

He was seated in the sand, his affects spread out around him to dry in the sun as he cleaned his pistol. The one shot lay close beside him, and every now and then he would lower a hand to feel if it was still there. As they came closer, he looked up.

"It's not really all that big, is it?"

It had taken the women only half an hour to circumnavigate the entire island. They stared at the trail of footprints they had left thirty minutes before, still not entirely washed away by the surf.

"If you're going to shoot me, please do so without delay," Elizabeth said dully.

"Is there a problem between us, Miss Swann?" Jack inquired, squinting in the bright sunlight.

"You were going to tell Will about Barbossa in exchange for a ship," Sarah supplied before Elizabeth could open her clenched jaw.

Jack's shoulders slumped in exasperation. "We could use a ship," he pointed out, rather correctly. "The fact is, I was going to _not_ tell Barbossa about bloody Will in exchange for a ship, because as long as he didn't know about bloody Will, I had something to bargain with." He reloaded his pistol and shoved it into his belt forcefully, bitingly finishing, "Which now, no one has, thanks to _bloody—stupid—Will_."

Elizabeth glanced down, unsure of what to say. "Oh," she managed.

"_Oh_," Jack imitated, replacing all his chattels into their rightful position on his belt, then folding it neatly on top of the sand.

"He still risked his life to save ours," Sarah insisted, a little resentful that Jack somehow always managed to win an argument.

"Ha!" Jack got to his feet and turned his back to them, walking briskly into the bare clump of palm trees on the lower tip of the island.

"So we have to do something to rescue him!" Elizabeth cried, she and Sarah hurrying after him. He whirled around, lips pursed.

"Off you go, then!" He waved her away. "Let me know how that turns out!"

"But you were marooned on this island before, weren't you—so we can escape in the same way you did then!"

Jack turned on Sarah before she had time to finish the word 'then'. "To what point and purpose, young missy?" He spat. "The Black Pearl is gone, and unless you have a rudder and lot of sails hidden in that bodice—" He gestured to it with wide eyes, "—Unlikely—young Mr. Turner will be dead long before either of you can reach him."

"But you're Captain Jack Sparrow!" Elizabeth objected, as he meandered through the trees, every now and then pressing an ear to their trunks. "You vanished from under the eyes of seven agents of the East India Trading Company—you sacked Nassau Port without even firing a shot!"

Sarah took a step backward in unsettled surprise. She had read about the sacking of Nassau Port in a history book, back in school…but she couldn't for the life of her remember who was responsible…or if they had even said…She was sure it was nothing.

"Are you the pirate I've read about or not?" Elizabeth asked, and Sarah found herself wondering the same thing for a very different reason.

Jack took three awkwardly huge steps onto a pile of brush and did a ridiculous looking sort of half jump. Elizabeth ignored this, stepping right in front of him and forcing him to look at her. "How did you escape last time?"

Jack's composed countenance melted away into a frigid mask. He exhaled heavily. "Last time…" His eyes rolled heavenward. "Last time, I was here a grand total of three days, alright?" He leaned down around her and out of the sand pulled open a rickety trap door.

Sarah stared into the dark hole below in awe, while Jack continued his story. "Last time, the rum runners used this island as a cache." His voice became muffled as he went down the narrow stairs into the tiny cellar. "…Came by and I was able to barter a passage off. From the looks of things, they've long been out of business." His hands appeared again, gripping the necks of three rum bottles, and then the rest of his body. "Probably have your bloody friend Norrington to thank for that," he commented.

Elizabeth stared at him, eyes shining with furious tears, and Sarah felt her own hopes sink as she realized the implications of Jack's narrative. He hadn't somehow miraculously escaped. There was no mysterious unknown way to get off the island. He was just a really lucky, and extremely drunk pirate.

"That's it, then?" Elizabeth said coldly, her voice wobbling. "That's the secret, _grand_ adventure of the infamous Jack Sparrow? He spent three days, lying on a beach, drinking rum?"

Jack glanced down for a moment, then smiled and handed her a bottle. "Welcome to the Caribbean, love," he said casually, and walked past her back onto the beach. Sarah rushed after him.

"Then, is there any truth to the other stories?" Sarah asked anxiously, as he started to sit down.

"Truth?" He repeated, a dark note in his voice even though he was smiling. He pushed up his right shirtsleeve to reveal the 'P' branded there that she had already seen. Then, he dropped the bottles onto the sand with a thud and pushed up his left shirtsleeve. There was a long scar that stretched all the way up his forearm, veins popping out like worms under dirt. Sarah swallowed. Lastly, he pulled down the collar of his shirt. Two black, star-shaped scars were embedded in the right side of his chest; two staring eyes—two bullet wounds.

"No truth at all," he told her emotionlessly, then sat down and deftly uncorked one of the bottles. "We still have a month, maybe more. Keep a weather eye out for passing ships and our chances will be fair."

Sarah stared at him, now a little teary-eyed herself. "And what about Will? We have to do something."

"You're absolutely right," he exclaimed. He grabbed the last bottle and rolled it to her feet. Then, he raised his bottle in a toast and said gravely, "Here's luck to you, Will Turner."

Elizabeth, who had come out of the trees behind them a moment before, raised her bottle as well and took a swig. Sarah grabbed her and sat down next to Jack, tugging off the cork and taking a small sip of the warm liquid. She had always been a lightweight. She would have to watch how much she drank, especially since it seemed to be their only available thirst-quencher.

If they didn't die of starvation, they would at least ruin their livers—though Sarah doubted highly that Jack had much of a liver left to ruin.

۞

**Author's Note:** Sorry for the long wait! Now that people can actually message their reviewers, I solemnly swear that I will reply to every review I get. Thanks a bunch, guys!


	10. In The Heat of the Night

۞

_**Chapter Ten:**_

_In The Heat of the Night_

۞

"_We're devils and black sheep and really bad eggs…_"

"_I love this song!_"

Sarah threw her head back and laughed merrily as she watched her two companions stumble around the growing fire. She lolled in the delicious warmth of the flames, every now and then turning to absorb the cool breeze coming in with the tide. Her mind was dizzied by the sensational luxury of the outdoors, with the sand beneath her and the sea at her feet, and then something not supplied by nature, but by a certain buried cellar. The sweetness of the rum flowing through her system made everything seem all the more beautiful—the crystalline stars, the writhing bonfire, and most of all the deep blue blanket of the ocean. Like a broken mirror, the world it reflected was twisted and bizarre. _Absolutely perfect, _Sarah mused.

"Come join us!" Elizabeth commanded gleefully, spreading her arms and giggling. "We're not having any fun without you."

What was left of Sarah's rational mind noted that Elizabeth's state of complete misconduct didn't nearly match up with the diminutive empty space in the young woman's bottle.

Sarah's drunken mind, which was overruling the others considerably, told her to do exactly as Elizabeth said. But for the sake of modesty, she hesitated.

"Oh no," she said unsteadily, smiling at her feet. "No, no, no."

"Come on," Jack slurred. "What're you going ta do down there? Build a _bloody_ sand castle?" He offered her a hand—it wasn't much incentive to get up, considering he might fall over if she actually accepted the appendage. "Come on, Miss Burke, show us some o' that feminine cheek you've been shoving down my throat for the last week."

Sarah spat out the rum she had been about to swallow. Wiping her mouth, she grinned up at the pirate. "Just for that, I _will_." She ignored his hand and pushed herself clumsily to her feet. Once she felt steady enough, she hitched up her shift and smiled.

She had never been thankful for the Irish step dance lessons her mother had put her through for the first fourteen years of her life. _Not until now, that is_.

Concentrating as hard as she could without making her head ache, she counted the rhythm silently as she performed what she could remember of a slip jig she had done in a recital when she was thirteen. Her feet pounded against the sand in a soft whispering beat, her smile beginning to grow with her confidence. When she completed the last step, she went into a little curtsy and looked up at Elizabeth and Jack, waiting for their response.

The corners of Elizabeth's mouth turned up in surprise. Jack's eyes widened, and with a murmured '_whoa_', he promptly fell over.

Sarah dropped herself down next to him, rubbing her feet. Elizabeth snorted and, with a shake of her head, gestured toward the pile of kindling to indicate she was going to stoke up the fire.

"When I get the _Pearl_ back, I'll teach 'em that song, and you can teach 'em that dance, and we'll do 'em all the time!"

"And you will be positively the most fearsome pirate in the Spanish Main," Sarah cooed, leaning back in astonishment as soon as the words left her mouth. She wasn't _that_ drunk.

"Not just the Spanish Main, love—the entire ocean—the entire _world_!" Jack declared, gestured out to sea. "Wherever we want to go, we'll go. That's what a ship is, you know." He turned to her, his eyes glittering expressively. "It's not just a keel and a hull and a deck and sails—that's what a ship _needs_. But what a ship is…what the _Black Pearl_ _really_ is…"

Sarah hung onto his every word, suddenly entranced by the way his mouth moved when his spoke.

"…Is freedom."

She exhaled heavily as he finished the sentence, her body utterly relaxed. Despite the alcohol blurring her senses, she felt that abruptly she understood exactly what Jack had _really_ been saying to her all along. The part of her that accused the drunkenness was readily ignored—she wasn't _that_ drunk. She liked to think Jack would've made sense to her even if she had been sober, his simple little speech having reached her so much. When she closed her eyes, she could see her and her father on his sailboat, clear as Jack's face beside her.

It had never meant much to her then—not until he was dead.

"What're you thinking of, love?" Jack asked curiously, his tone shrewd. Perhaps he wasn't _that_ drunk either—though Sarah deemed that unlikely.

"My father," Sarah blurted out, surprising herself yet again. She thought one thing and said another—her mouth was out of control. When Jack said nothing, encouraging her to continue, she added reluctantly, "Sailing." She said it like a question, asking Jack if her answer pleased him.

He nodded slowly, thoughtfully. "Uhuh. My father and I sailed." He looked wistful for a moment, but then transferred his attention back to her. "Where's he at now, your father?"

"Gone," Sarah replied emotionlessly. She meant to say dead, but she didn't. Jack understood anyway.

"My condolences," he said respectfully in his sailor's drawl. There was a pause, and then Jack began carefully, "I suspect…that's why you keep to yourself, so often."

Sarah's head pivoted sharply to look at him, but she didn't glare. "You mean I haven't told you anything about me," she elaborated. "Well, to be fair, you haven't told any of us anything about you either."

He smiled at her, his gold teeth blinking in the firelight. "I assumed you knew me enough from all the stories."

"You said the stories weren't true."

"That I did," Jack agreed. "Not entirely, at least. It still takes a certain kind of man for people to tell stories about him, don't you think?"

"A pirate with a great deal of luck." Sarah smirked. Jack gave her a look and she shrugged consentingly. "A lot of luck and then something else," she amended.

"There, see," Jack said happily. "You know all about me. Now, what about you?"

Sarah groaned at his inescapable logic. She looked at him, then at the fire, and then at the sky, delaying childishly. Finally, she muttered, "I have no family here."

"Well then, where are they?" Jack persisted.

"In England," Sarah replied shortly, and truthfully. _Just not in this century._

"And you came here alone, because…?"

Sarah leaned forward to hug her knees, pushing herself forward in the sand so Jack left her sight. "Look, I don't have to talk to you about any of this," she said angrily, trying to keep her voice from revealing the tears welling up in her eyes as she thought of her sisters.

"Apologies, love," Jack said quietly behind her, and she heard the rum in his bottle splash around as he took a drink.

Sarah looked at her own bottle, lying on the ground a few feet away. Suddenly she was furious at herself for even drinking anything—for actually getting drunk on this stupid island, with a rude pirate and a stuck-up aristocrat, for helping strangers in some surreal adventure that she had never even heard of—for not even trying to get back home when her family was probably worried sick about her, even though they hadn't spoken for months and months…

Despite herself, she let out the quietest of sobs, hot, heavy tears rolling down her cheeks as her face stung in the warmth of the fire. She breathed in carefully, her entire body shaking as she emitted another sob, even when she pressed a hand to her mouth to muffle the sound. She felt as though she was sitting in a boiling pool of shame and hate, all the anger and awkwardness she had felt over the last six years seeping out of her pores like pus.

Then something touched her, a divine coolness spreading across her back as she felt human contact for what felt like the first time in decades.

She turned in towards Jack, hugging herself and crying as he rubbed her back and held her against his chest until her sobs quieted and she could breath more steadily. "They hate me," she whispered brokenly. "They hate me so much."

Jack used a finger to tilt her face up so she was looking him in the eye. "Love," he said gently, "In my experience, those who dislike you fall into two categories: the stupid, and the envious."

Sarah's lips unwillingly formed a small smile, and she let out a choked laugh.

"And, also in my experience," he continued, even more gently, "When your family seems to dislike you, it's because they can't stand seeing what they've done to you."

"Where did you learn—" Sarah's sentence was smothered by a pair of lips—Jack's lips, to be precise—as they suddenly covered her own.

At first she tensed, the hands against his chest preparing to shove him away—but then she didn't. She reveled in the amazing feeling of touch—hands burning through her thin shift, lips passing roughly from her mouth to her cheek to her neck, stubble scratching the soft skin of her jaw, solid arms encircling her waist—

And then as quick as it had come it was gone, and Jack was staring down at her, as she lay wide-eyed in the sand. They watched each other almost suspiciously.

Sarah refrained from asking something as naïve as '_what was that?_' She knew exactly what it was. She just had no idea what to do about it.

"Is this because you're drunk?" She asked finally.

"Is it because _you're_ drunk?" He retorted.

They both stared at each other again. After a moment, Jack sighed.

"If you're not going to say anything else, I'm going to kiss you again."

"Alright," Sarah agreed quickly.

More prepared this time, Sarah responded as vigorously as he. She brought her hands up to feel each hollow and arch of his face as he kissed her, then moved them down over his shoulders and up around his back. She delighted in the feel of muscle and old-world toughness that she didn't suppose she would ever find in a man from the twenty-first century. The sweet taste of rum was stronger in his mouth than hers. She felt its beautiful burn spread across her lips as he planted kisses on every part of her mouth, toying with her lower lip just a little bit longer before traveling down to her neck and collarbone. His hands stroked her sides, then flitted across her middle, barely brushing the bottom of her breasts. She arched and then gasped softly as her body relaxed again.

Jack had somehow untied the top few laces of her shift, and his lips were dancing lower and lower. Then his hands took over again as he worked at the laces, bringing his mouth up to her ear and murmuring her name. She turned her head to capture his lips and kissed him hard, screaming inwardly for him to hurry up and finish with the strings.

When he did, his precious mouth moved back to the crevice between her breasts, leisurely pushing away the fabric of her shift, bit by bit. His hands reached back and pulled her legs up around him.

It wasn't until then that she fully realized what she was doing.

He felt her stiffen before the words even escaped her lips, and he immediately backed up. Sarah could have kissed him for his understanding, but at the moment that would've been a bad idea.

"I assume you're not about to tell me this is the first time you've done this," he said breathlessly. She gave him a resigned smile.

"It's not that," she said. "Jack, if I kiss you, it's because I want to. If I do…well, what we were about to do, with you, it's because I'm drunk."

He stared down at her, his fathomless gaze prying into her mind. She stared back openly. "We've only just known each other a week," she pointed out, a little dejectedly.

Jack gave her a lopsided grin, but a respectful one. "And we've only gotten along for the last five minutes." He moved off her, lying down at her side. She watched him with flushed cheeks.

"Thank you," she murmured. She moved closer and rested her head against his shoulder, draping an arm across his middle.

"I'm not as bad as you think," he replied, shrugging it off.

"You're not at all bad," she agreed with a mischievous grin, her meaning entirely different than his. He let out a bark of laughter and brushed a kiss across the nearest available part of her face, which happened to be her nose.

For a brief while they lay in silence. Jack stared vacantly up at the stars, while Sarah fidgeted with the hem of his shirt collar. Staring at her fingers, she commented lightly, "You don't seem so drunk any more."

"Had to keep an eye on Elizabeth."

"Elizabeth?" Sarah inquired, a little more frostily than she had intended. "Why?"

Jack glanced down at her, clearly detecting the icy undertone in her voice. Sarah raised her eyebrows innocently. "Because the bloody girl's a menace," he replied, equally as cold. "She's not the type to just blink away the memory of Will. Thought she might be up to something."

"Are we really going to do nothing to help him?" Sarah asked quietly, inwardly sympathizing with her female companion.

Jack propped himself up on his elbows, letting her drop onto the sand. "We're stranded on this _goddamned_ island—what in hell can _we_ do to help him? I'd think it would be slightly difficult for us to save him from here." Sarah recoiled in affront as he suddenly sat up. "Don't ask me about that _bloody_ Elizabeth when you and her have practically started the _bloody_ Will Turner fan club." He flapped his hand at her emphatically, as though brushing her away.

Sarah felt her face heat up in anger and embarrassment. "I don't know why I even bothered to ask," she snapped, rolling over so her back was to him. "You're too busy griping about your stupid ship to think about anyone else."

"It's not like I owe the boy anything," Jack retorted. "Nor you, for that matter."

Sarah knew instantly he was referring to the incident at Isla de Muerta, and she cringed. "What about his father?" It was her last attempt to restore her side of the argument. "You were friends, weren't you? You must owe him something."

Jack's countenance was stony. "Will's father," he began slowly, "Was a member of the crew that marooned me here the first time around."

Sarah felt her stomach tighten with guilt. It was the same feeling she got when she accidentally threw a ball too hard at her friend in elementary school, or when she accidentally her friend's dead relative that the girl missed horribly. She closed her eyes tightly, swallowing the hard fist of pride caught in her throat. "I'm sorry," she murmured.

"Of course you are," he replied callously. He seized his bottle of rum and drained it, then lay back in the sand a few feet away, closing his eyes.

Sarah stared at him, her mind screaming, then turned around and tried to sleep.

۞

**Author's Note: **Undoubtedly my favourite chapter yet. And I got to squeeze in a quote from _The Libertine_. Hope you all enjoyed it! If I get ten reviews, I'll promise to update within the next five days. Yes, I am groveling. Ta, loves!


	11. Dishonest Men

۞

_**Chapter Eleven:**_

_Dishonest Men_

۞

"Wake up."

The early morning sky of the Caribbean was a pale blue-gray. A thin beam of golden light stretched across the horizon, anticipating the rise of the sun. The recurring gentle lap of waves against the sand seemed to be the only noise in the world—

"Wake up!"

Sarah started, her eyes widening as a mass of dark blonde hair obstructed her view.

Elizabeth pursed her lips. "We have to get off this island," she whispered.

"Obviously," Sarah muttered, slowly raising her head. The dull throbbing of her temples immediately brought it back down.

"Get up!" Elizabeth ordered quietly, tugging at Sarah's arm. "You have to help me. I've got an idea."

۞

Surprisingly, Sarah felt little remorse as she watched the thick smoke billow upwards beyond the charred palm trees. True, if Elizabeth's plan failed they would've burnt their entire food and drink supply to a crisp—but she didn't fancy making a fool of herself night after night, and waking up to a hangover every morning.

She couldn't decide if she was better off remembering last night, or if she really should have just gotten smashed and been able to completely forget everything.

Another small explosion leapt from the growing pile of crates over the underground cellar. Sarah and Elizabeth ducked simultaneously.

"No! Not good!"

Jack stumbled towards them, his arms flapping madly. "Good morning sunshine," Sarah said under her breath, grinning.

"Stop! What are you doing?" He staggered after Elizabeth as she set off towards the beach. "You're burning all the food, the shade—the _rum_!"

"Yes, the rum is gone," she said calmly.

"_Why is the rum gone?_" Jack demanded agitatedly. Sarah thought he still seemed rather drunk.

Elizabeth whirled around to face him, her eyes blazing. "One, because it is a vile drink that turns _even_ the most respectful men into complete scoundrels. Two, that signal is over a thousand feet high. The _entire_ royal navy is out looking for me—do you really think there is even the slightest chance that they won't see it?"

Jack stared at her. "But why is the rum gone?"

"Just wait, Captain Sparrow," Elizabeth said, ignoring his question. "You give it one hour, maybe two, keep a weather eye out and then you will see white sails on that horizon." She turned and sat down resolutely.

For a tense moment Sarah thought Jack would snap, as he tugged his gun out of his belt and pointed it at Elizabeth's head. But he seemed to think better of it and stormed off down the beach instead. Sarah watched him go, taking a seat in the sand beside her female companion.

"Are you really that confident this'll work?"

"Yes," Elizabeth replied, as though it were the most obvious thing in the world. She gave Sarah an offended look. "Though even if it does, I doubt _Captain_ Sparrow will ever forgive me."

Sarah smiled weakly.

"What's in this for you, anyway?" Elizabeth asked, after a pause. "Jack's after his ship, Will and I—well, we're best friends," she said carefully. "And you…"

Sarah shrugged uncomfortably. "I was nothing more than an innocent bystander," she replied, and then added with a smile when Elizabeth gave her a look, "Almost innocent."

"Do you live in Port Royal?"

"No."

"I didn't think so," Elizabeth said quickly. "I've never seen you before. Do you and Jack even know each other?"

Sarah considered lying—and turned it down. "No."

"Don't rely on him then."

"What?"

Elizabeth sighed. "Don't expect anything of him—after last night."

Sarah flushed. "I don't," she insisted, looking at her feet.

"Good. Because they're all the same, men like him. As soon as he has his ship back he won't give a damn about you."

Anger squirmed restlessly in the pit of Sarah's stomach. Elizabeth had no right to patronize her—and she shouldn't have _spied_ on them last night. "Ah," she said coldly. "Thank you for enlightening me." She started to get up.

"I didn't mean to be rude," Elizabeth faltered. "I was just trying to warn you."

Sarah paused, sighing heavily. "It's fine," she reassured the girl, a little more warmly. She pushed herself to her feet and started after Jack, who was well on his way to the other end of the island. Of course, that wasn't very far away.

"Jack?"

"_But you're Captain Jack Sparrow!_" He was muttering to himself as he stomped away, appearing not to have heard her. "_Are you the pirate—_" His tone was decidedly mocking.

"Jack!" Sarah gasped, trudging up the sandy slope. "Wait! Where are you going?"

He whirled around, eyes wide, his mouth set in a thin line. "I'm off to wait for rescue. Commodore _Nancington_ and his crew of lace-clad sailors should be along any moment!" He set off again at a faster pace.

"Don't you want to be rescued?" Sarah asked incredulously, trotting to keep up with him.

"It's not quite _rescue_, is it, Miss Burke, when your saviors plan to hang you as soon as can be arranged, is it?"

"But you saved Elizabeth! They owe you, don't they?"

He let out a bark of cheerless laughter. "Ah yes, I can see it now; 'Well, mate, you've humiliated our ranks for ten odd years, commandeered our fastest ship, blown it up quite neatly, and spent an unsupervised night of drinking with the governor's daughter—but, _hell_, you got her back to us alright, so we'll _let you off!_'"

"At least you have a _chance_ now, instead of starving to death," Sarah protested in offence. "Surely you can negotiate for a lighter sentence—"

"What bloody country are you from? There's no such thing as a lighter sentence for pirates, missy, not here."

Sarah was on the verge of stomping her foot. "But you haven't done anything _wrong!_" She insisted furiously. "Well, not morally," she revised. "Legally, you've probably set some sort of re—"

Jack had refined catching her off guard to an art. He seized her by the shoulders and brought his mouth down on hers, kissing her thoroughly. After a moment her taut limbs relaxed and she leaned in eagerly, slipping her arms around his neck. She was torn between anger and exhilaration—but she preferred the latter.

She kept her eyes closed for a brief moment after the kiss had ended, preparing herself for the expression she might meet when she opened them. Her eyelashes fluttered.

At first, all she saw was a pair of deep brown irises, staring intently into hers. She felt her knees buckle—but then—

"Sarah, I—"

"Look!" Sarah gestured wildly over his shoulder, her free hand forming a fist in her hair. "A ship!"

"_What?_"

"The _Dauntless_! Elizabeth was right! _Holy shit!_" Sarah grinned excitedly, grabbing Jack's face and planting a hard, enthusiastic kiss on his lips. "I never really thought—oh my god, Jack, we're rescued!"

۞

"But we've got to save Will!"

"No! You're safe now. We will return to Port Royal, not go gallivanting after pirates!"

Sarah, along with what seemed to be half the crew of the _Dauntless_, scrambled after Elizabeth as she pursued the Governor and the Commodore up deck. Father and daughter had greeted each other warmly enough, but Governor Swann's tender concern had quickly diminished when Elizabeth had begun ordering that they chase after Barbossa and his captive.

Sarah hadn't been shown much concern at all until Elizabeth insisted her shackles be removed. It took some convincing and finally the word of an exasperated Jack to prove her innocence, but Sarah was no longer regarded a criminal.

Jack, however, was assigned two guards (Murtogg and Mullroy, of all possible available crewmen), and trudged along with their hands tightly gripping both his shoulders.

"Then we condemn him to death?" Elizabeth demanded furiously.

Governor Swann sighed tiredly. "The boy's fate is regrettable—but then again, so is his decision to engage in piracy."

"To rescue me, to prevent anything from happening to me!"

Jack stepped forward hesitantly—though Sarah somehow got the impression that he wasn't hesitant at all. "If I may be so bold as to interject my professional opinion," he began slowly. The Commodore's frosty stare made it clear he should _not_ be bold enough, but the pirate continued anyway. "The _Pearl_ was listing near to scuppers after the battle; it's very unlikely she'll be able to make good time." He moved closer to the Commodore, leaning in and smirking meaningfully. "Think about it. The _Black Pearl_—the last _real_ pirate threat in the Caribbean, mate. How can you pass that up?"

Sarah was new to this, and even _she_ knew Norrington better than that. She gave Jack a halfhearted smile.

"By remembering that I serve others, Mr. Sparrow, not only myself," The Commodore replied coldly, starting up the stairs to the helm.

"Commodore, I beg you, please do this," Elizabeth said desperately, her eyes shining. "For me—as a wedding gift."

Sarah's mouth fell open in surprise, and then her entire face fell in sympathy. She admired Elizabeth extremely for being able to make such a sacrifice—Sarah wondered if she ever could.

"Elizabeth," her father exclaimed, both he and Norrington staring in amazement, "Are you accepting the Commodore's proposal?"

"I am," she breathed, all drama aside.

"Oh, a wedding!" Jack cried tactlessly. "I love weddings! Drinks all around!"

Every gaze transferred to him, and he smiled apologetically, extending his arms. "I know—clap him in irons, right?"

"Mr. Sparrow," The Commodore began, again all business, "You will accompany these fine men to the helm and provide us with the bearings for Isla de Muerta. You will then spend the rest of the voyage contemplating all possible meanings of the phrase _'silent as the grave'_." The corners of his lips turned up in a derisive smile. "Do I make myself clear?"

Jack grimaced as the two guards tugged him up the stairs. "Inescapably clear." As he left, the Governor turned to Norrington, his brow furrowed.

"Commodore, I must question the wisdom of this—"

"With all due respect, Governor," The Commodore replied, not making eye contact, "Mr. Turner is a subject of the British crown and therefore under my protection."

Governor Swann nodded, exhaling. "Rightly so." He glanced over at Elizabeth. "Take care of her." Both Elizabeth and Norrington watched him go, and then the latter turned to his new fiancé.

"Elizabeth." She took the arm he offered and they strolled leisurely towards the railing. Sarah was apparently forgotten—so she took advantage of the situation and leaned forward discreetly.

"I'm concerned that your answer was, perhaps," Norrington hesitated, then finished gracefully with, "Less than sincere."

"I would not give my word lightly," she replied equally as gracefully.

"Yes, I understand." He looked at her. "But it is wrong that I would want it given _un_conditionally?"

She smiled weakly. "It is not a condition; it is a request. Your answer will not change mine. You are a fine man, James."

Sarah felt a little guilty for eavesdropping when she caught sight of the unadulterated joy dawning on the Commodore's face. He really wasn't so bad.

"Well," he said, flustered. "Very well then. Excellent." He turned and, catching sight of Sarah, gave her a smile in his cheerful bewilderment. Then, he blinked and his eyes widened, as they traveled the length of her filthy shift. "I will find you—" He glanced at Elizabeth, "—_both_ proper attire. Though I'm afraid all we'll have on the ship is naval uniform."

"That's fine," Elizabeth answered faintly. To make up for her companion's dejection, Sarah smiled brightly.

"Yes, that would be lovely." She took Elizabeth's arm in a sturdy hold. "If you would show us the way?"

۞

As it turned out, the Commodore was right. Elizabeth and Sarah were given two soldier's uniforms, both much too large, but at least clean smelling. Sarah used a strip of fabric from her worn shift to fashion a pair of belts for them both, so to make the breeches look less like potato sacks decorating their legs. The thighs puffed out ridiculously and then narrowed around the calves. The style was not at all flattering.

According to Elizabeth's future husband, the trip to Isla de Muerta would take a little over two hours, and they could feel free to explore the ship until then. Not looking forward to the dreary fog that would no doubt encompass the island, Sarah insisted that they spend what time they had on deck.

"I would revel in how tremendously agreeable you're being if I didn't know better," Sarah commented nonchalantly, leaning against the bulwark and spreading her arms over the side of the ship. She loved to watch how quickly the water passed by.

"You should just be thankful I cleared your name and mind your own business," Elizabeth replied shortly, her back to the sea. She looked down at her too-large sailor's boots and frowned. "I wouldn't do that for a pirate if I didn't owe her less than a life debt."

Sarah gave Elizabeth an astonished look. "A life debt? What—and I'm not a pirate!"

"You shot that man on the Interceptor," Elizabeth reminded her, and Sarah paled slightly.

"Let's not talk about that," she said quickly, and there was a lengthy silence, until Elizabeth piped up, "If you're not a pirate, then what are you?"

"Just a regular person," Sarah exclaimed, rolling her eyes. "Why do you think I'm a pirate, anyways?"

Elizabeth shifted uncomfortably. "You talk strangely," she said finally. "Not like people from Port Royal—and you're not at all concerned about your virtue, or modesty."

"You were drunk too," Sarah retorted in affront.

"It was an act, so while you two were asleep I could make a signal," she admitted, shrugging.

Sarah laughed. "So apparently we were all faking it." When Elizabeth gave her a confused look, Sarah elaborated. "You, to make your little signal; Jack, to make sure neither of us did anything like burn the rum; and me, to—well, just to not get drunk." She grinned. "So we're just a bunch of liars, really."

Despite her miserable mood, Elizabeth cracked a smile. "That still doesn't tell me what _you_ are."

Feeling mischievous, Sarah said loudly, "I'm from the future."

Elizabeth raised her eyebrows in doubt. "Don't be ridiculous," she scoffed. "Tell me the truth."

"Unless of course you won't believe the truth, even if I tell it to you," Sarah countered, giggling at her imitation of Jack.

"I was on a ship," Elizabeth said gravely, "With at least _fifty_ men who turned into skeletons when the moon came out." She gave Sarah a hard look. "I will believe just about anything."

"Then believe me," the other girl replied simply. "I'm from the future. Actually, it could be an alternate future, because you are part of a _novel_ I was reading."

Sarah smothered a laugh with her hand as Elizabeth's face took on a series of expressions. Her own, real life felt _un_real to her—something about this place made her feel like she belonged here, and not working as the manager of a bookstore living in a slummy basement suite. Telling Elizabeth about it actually _did_ feel like a joke—like a lie.

"Alright," Elizabeth said at last, her voice choked. "What's your life in the _future_ like, then?"

"I live up north," Sarah replied easily. "I have two sisters, who live with my mother in England. I manage a bookstore—_and_, I don't have this ridiculous accent," she laughed.

"Do you live with your father?"

"No."

"Your husband?"

"I'm unmarried."

Her companion look puzzled. "And you manage a bookstore?"

Sarah nodded. "Women are very independent."

"And they all…act…like you do?"

"You would be a prude."

Elizabeth's eyes narrowed, and after a moment she said, "Forgive me if I find it hard to believe."

"Not at all."

"And you say you read about me in a _novel_?"

"Actually, it wasn't about you, it was called _'The Lost Factual Adventures of Captain Jack Sparrow'_." Sarah grinned at the look of disgust that crossed Elizabeth's face. "And I had only gotten through a few pages before I ended up here."

"Well, when you go back, make sure to tell everyone that none of his adventures are essentially _true_," Elizabeth told her sourly.

Sarah nodded feebly, her good mood dropping a little. "Actually, I don't really know how to get back." She waved her hand as Elizabeth opened her mouth. "No, I know you don't really believe me—but all unlikelihood aside, I'm pretty much stuck here."

"Well," Elizabeth began cautiously, still not sure if she was victim of a practical joke. "What were you doing when you…got here?"

"I was reading the book," Sarah replied impatiently. "Sitting in the bookstore, reading the book. It was near midnight." Then she added, "In fact, it would have been my birthday in less than ten minutes if I hadn't left."

"You were in your bookstore reading at midnight?"

"It's complicated." Sarah sighed gustily. "Besides, I can't exactly just create the same scenario here. For one thing, the book isn't published yet, and for another, there aren't any bookstores around here—" She gestured expansively. "I don't even know what day of the month it is."

"It's September twelfth," Elizabeth said, watching for her reaction.

"Great," Sarah muttered, putting her head in her hands. "My birthday is March sixteenth." She glanced up hesitantly. "Does this mean you believe me?"

Elizabeth's eyes darted down reluctantly. "I don't know. You _do_ seem to genuinely be worried."

"Hah. That's the thing," Sarah said, waving her arms expressively. "I don't even know if I want to go back, now." She smiled hostilely. "There, I've said it. I don't know if I want to go back."

"Don't you miss your home?" Elizabeth asked incredulously.

"Not so much," Sarah replied sardonically. "My pay is bad, my suite is shitty, and my family doesn't particularly like me…" Her shoulders slumped. "My father is dead."

Elizabeth only seemed to understand the last point. She gave Sarah's shoulder a comforting squeeze. "You sound slightly mad, you know," she said quietly. "But even if you're telling the truth—which, in light of recent events, wouldn't surprise me—I can't help you decide what you want."

Sarah inhaled deeply. "Thank you," she said, smiling. "But at this point what I want doesn't matter much. I'm trapped here with you prudes, for the time being."

"Jack isn't a prude," Elizabeth supplied helpfully.

Sarah snorted. "Far from it."

۞

**Author's Note: **I've updated _just_ at the end of five days. I didn't get ten reviews, but the ones I did receive were wonderful. Thank you so much, guys! I hope you all enjoyed this chapter. Since my review count is low, I figure a moral boost is in order, so here we go. To the tune of _Let it Snow_, ladies and gentlemen:

_Though the plot of this fic may be frightful _

_Jack Sparrow is just so delightful_

_Though the story may be crap, it's true_

_Please Review, please review, please review!_

_Though time travel is so overused_

_And Jack/OC is greatly abused_

_Show some love, for the author is blue_

_Please review, please review, please review!_


	12. Genuine Things

۞

_**Chapter Twelve:**_

_Genuine Things_

۞

The fog prompted a strong sense of déjà vu for Sarah, along with a new kind of dread. Her last trip through the graveyard of ships had been one into the unknown. Now she knew exactly what she was dealing with, and it frightened her even more.

There was also the chilling thought that perhaps they were too late to save Will. Despite Jack's assurances that the _Pearl_ was far too damaged to achieve her regular eerie speed, they hadn't even glimpsed something that resembled a ship. The journey was uneventful and, after the sun had set, disquieting.

"You've been standing there quite a while, love."

Sarah gasped loudly at the unexpected sound of Jack's voice to her right. After enduring hours of her companion's pacing and worrying, Sarah had convinced Elizabeth to go lay down for a while and 'recuperate'. She had actually just wanted some time to think, alone, and consider the full consequences of what she had revealed to the girl. She stood at the railing until the white light of the moon floated down through the fog.

She saw no reason to explain herself to her new company—just yet. "You didn't tell them about the curse," she said instead, knowing Jack would be unable to resist defending himself.

"I noticed neither did you," he replied coolly, hands behind his back. He was several feet away but Sarah thought she could almost feel his breath on her cheek. "For the same reason, I imagine."

"They wouldn't have believed it." Sarah's eyes fell. She was thinking more of her own situation than the one Jack was referring to.

"Could've taken a few pointers from Elizabeth; gotten 'em drunk." She raised her eyebrows at him and he smiled.

"I think what she did was heroic."

"Don't get me wrong, love. I admire a person who's willing to do whatever is necessary." He moved a step closer, staring at her. "But you're risking your life for a lad you've known for less than a week."

"So are you," Sarah pointed out, hating the feeling of Jack's eyes boring into her.

"We both know I'm in it for more than Mr. Turner, Sarah."

"Well, where else would I be?" She demanded irritably. "It's not like I can just say, 'oh, I'd rather not run after undead pirates to save my friend, could you just drop me off on the way?'"

"But where _would_ you be, if you weren't here?"

Sarah finally turned to look at him, giving him a caustic smile. "You can stop trying to pry into my personal life now, because I won't tell you anything."

At her words he came closer until the gap between them was filled, and the breath she imagined she felt was warm and real. The profound darkness of his eyes and the secretive sheen that coated it suddenly reminded her of what Elizabeth had said on the island.

_He won't give a damn about you._

In an unusually timid tone, she murmured, "You're a smart man, Jack, but I don't entirely trust you."

With his index finger he gestured to them both. "Peas in a pod, darling," he told her quietly, grinning. Then, with the same finger, he smoothly tilted her chin up and planted a resolved kiss on her bottom lip.

Reflexively, Sarah started to lean in. Then she remembered the conversation they had just been having and pulled away immediately. Jack gave her a genuinely startled look, which pleased her to no end.

"I'm not going to do this when you won't give a damn about me after you get your ship back," she said hurriedly, directly quoting Elizabeth for fear she wouldn't be able to get her own words straight.

"I'm being hanged when we return to Port Royal," he said carefully, very obviously lying—or at least hoping he was lying.

"Don't be ridiculous," Sarah retorted. "I know, and Elizabeth knows, and pretty much everyone else _expects_ that you're going escape." Then her eyes narrowed and she said, "If you thought you were going to be hanged, you would just have a merry fling with me and then just let me wallow in misery after you died?"

His mouth split into a grin. "You would wallow in misery if I died, love?"

"You know that's not what I meant," Sarah groaned in frustration. "You're supposed to be defending yourself." She cut herself off as she was about to continue and sighed. "This will go on forever if I argue with you. Listen," she began seriously, "I am in no position to start a relationship right now, with anyone, at all—especially not a _pirate_ who probably has slept with half the female population of the Caribbean and has several unpleasant diseases."

"I don't have any diseases," Jack said indignantly.

"That didn't come out exactly the way I planned it to," Sarah admitted. "What I meant to say is, this is so _bloody_ senseless that I am not going to participate in it."

They stared at each other, Jack blankly and Sarah nervously, her fingers tapping sporadically against the wood of the railing.

"What if I said," Jack finally murmured, after several moments of silence, "That I would take you with me, on my ship, when I left here."

"Then you would be lying," Sarah replied shakily, turning away and starting towards the Captain's Cabin where Elizabeth was resting.

"No, no, no, no, no," Jack said quickly, stepping around and blocking her way. "What if I wasn't lying?" He asked, smiling as charmingly as he could manage. "Which I'm not," he added.

"Wh—why would you do that?"

"For one, to be nice. Secondly, I would probably be saving you from either jail or a hanging."

"Elizabeth convinced them that I was innocent, remember?" She waved her unshackled hands in his face.

"Just because you aren't in irons doesn't mean they won't arrest you later," he said wisely, waving his own unbound hands back.

"So you would take me on your ship to be nice."

"Well," he hesitated, "And because—well—I like you." He said the last part rather quickly and breathlessly.

"Is that the first time you've ever said that to a girl?" She asked mockingly.

Abruptly, his hands seized her shoulders and pulled her towards him so she had to look him straight in the eye unless she wanted to very insultingly turn away.

"Love, I'm trying to help you," he said gravely, almost angrily. "I do genuinely like you, as hard as that may be to believe for someone of your obvious stature. I don't seem the type to genuinely _like_ a woman, granted, but most women don't argue with me constantly or turn me down when I'm perfectly prepared to sleep with them or know how to sail a ship—except for AnaMaria, of course, but I don't like her for reasons I'd rather not explain." He paused to take a deep breath. Sarah was too astonished to put a sentence together. "Just, for once, don't think I'm planning something underhanded for my sole benefit. Come on my ship, and if you don't like it I'll drop you off at Tortuga just like you wanted before."

Sarah could think of a hundred biting things to say in response, but she didn't use them. Not even the sarcasm littered here and there could detract from the full affect his little speech had on her. Realizing she hadn't responded for an awkwardly long time, she nodded dumbly.

"Sparrow!" A hand appeared on Jack's chest and pushed him away from her. Commodore Norrington stood between them, his stare cold as ice. "Unless you have a premature death wish, I suggest you refrain from manhandling any woman on my ship," he told him forbiddingly. Tossing the pirate his compass, he turned to Sarah. "Are you alright, Miss Burke?"

"He wasn't manhandling me," she stammered, gradually recovering from her stunned silence. "Really."

The Commodore gave her a hard look and then turned back to Jack. "With me, Sparrow," he ordered, and turned back towards the quarterdeck.

Sarah felt expected to do something—anything—as Jack began to turn away, but every gesture she thought of seemed far too cliché for the pirate captain. At the last moment she simply grabbed his hand and squeezed it reassuringly.

Jack gave her a surprised look, as though the unadorned practice of holding hands had never occurred to him. Slowly, he freed himself from her loose grip and moved discreetly closer, his fingers skipping deftly over her wrist and then sliding up her arm. His lips turned up in a subtle yet suggestive smirk. "You can't resist me, love."

"And you can't resist _me_, Mr. Sparrow," Norrington interrupted in his drawling English tones, smiling mordantly. "Or do I have to reappoint my men at your sides?"

Jack abruptly dropped Sarah's arm and stepped briskly after the Commodore. "_Captain_ Sparrow, actually," she heard him say before they disappeared behind the main mast and onto the mist-shrouded quarterdeck.

۞

"Elizabeth!"

The governor's daughter raised her head from the cushion it had been resting on, eyes wide in surprise as Sarah burst into the room with flushed cheeks and a ridiculous smile. "How are you feeling?" She asked breathlessly, sitting down at Elizabeth's side with a thump.

"Fine," Elizabeth replied slowly. "Is it the fact that we're about to confront undead pirates that's so _thoroughly_ cheered you up, or the lovely weather we're having?"

Sarah's flame of merriment was promptly doused at this reminder. "Sorry," she said quickly. "Just, er, pre-battle nerves."

"Are we near there?" Elizabeth asked, straightening up.

"The fog's getting thicker, we must be close."

Elizabeth's eyes glazed over, giving Sarah the feeling she was looking right through her. "There's still time," Elizabeth murmured. "I can feel it."

The sound of the door opening seemed loud as thunder. Both girls leapt to their feet in surprise to find Captain Gillette eyeing them crossly.

"Here they are," he said, heaving a sigh of irritation. Two men in uniform appeared beside him. Sarah swallowed audibly.

"The Commodore's preparing an attack, and Mr. Sparrow's requested that _you_ join them in the boats," Gillette announced with exaggerated pomp, obviously considering the task of 'summoning the women' beneath him. Under his breath, he added, "I don't see why we're taking orders from a pirate, but duty is duty."

Both Sarah and Elizabeth strode forward expectantly, but when they got to the door Gillette put out a hand to stop the latter. "Only Miss Burke, I'm afraid. The Commodore has given specific orders that you are to stay onboard." He smiled acidly. "In here."

"What?" Elizabeth whispered disbelievingly. Sarah had stopped in her tracks, but the two soldiers were pulling her along by the elbows.

"What do you mean, she has to stay here?" She asked frantically, dragging her heels.

"What?" Elizabeth exclaimed. "Let me out!" She tried to shove past Gillette but he seized her by the shoulders and pushed her back inside.

"The Commodore's orders, Miss—"

"I don't care what the Commodore ordered, I must see him! They can't attack! _The pirates are cursed!_"

Gillette grunted with effort to hold her back and close the doors at the same time, while Sarah struggled with her own captors to return to her friend. "She has to come with me," she insisted desperately, writhing in the guards' grip.

"They'll kill all the men, they're cursed—_don't you understand what I'm saying?_" Elizabeth screamed. "They're cursed! They can't be killed!"

"Don't worry, Miss, he's already been informed of that," Gillette told her, lifting her off her feet and placing her inside the room. "A little mermaid flopped up on deck and told him the whole story." He slammed the door and locked it.

۞

"Jack, what's going on?" Sarah asked angrily, pulling away from her guards and advancing towards him.

"Whoa, love." He agilely took hold of her arms and twisted her around so she was in the nook of his shoulder. They stood at the railing of the ship, a rowboat ready to be lowered into the water just beside them, and around them soldiers filing into boats of their own.

The Commodore watched the progress with grim determination. "Mr. Sparrow, you realize if any part of your plan goes wrong, my men will not hesitate to shoot you on sight."

"I'll remember that," Jack said, with a laboured grin. He turned and guided Sarah into the boat, only the stoniness of his grip and the gritty sheen to his eyes stopping her from running the other way.

"What the _hell_ is going on?" She demanded quietly as the boat was lowered into the water.

"Have I ever given you reason not to trust me?" Jack snapped in the same hoarse whisper.

"Yes!"

"Well, then—take a bloody leap of faith." He sat back and took hold of the oars as they landed with a soft splash in the water. The fathomless depths of the island's caverns loomed up ahead of them with sinister familiarity. This was not an ideal island to visit at night—or visited at all, for that matter.

Sarah, seated opposite from Jack, watched him carefully as he kept his eyes downcast, a subdued grin tugging at his lips.

"You just impress yourself all the time, don't you," Sarah observed sulkily, after a silence.

"That's what I do, love," came the easy reply. "I'm Captain Jack Sparrow."

Sarah rolled her eyes. "And I'm going to throw your stupid pistol to the sharks if you don't tell me what's going on."

"You have a lovely middle name."

"Shut up."

…

"_Are you going to tell me what's going on?_"

Jack sighed. "You said to shut up."

"Jesus Christ," Sarah groaned.

"Alright, alright, don't get your knickers in a twist," Jack conceded. "I convinced Norrington to let you come along with me, because you're the only one I trust enough to—" He paused as the shadow of the cave's entrance passed over them, and then they were cloaked in darkness. The moon's reflection off the water was the only light they had, and it was waning as they rowed further. "Enough to help me if Will's already been offed," Jack finished in a whisper.

Sarah paled. "You don't think—"

"I try not to," Jack replied seriously.

"What do you want me to do?" Sarah asked, trying to keep the anxiety out of her voice.

"Nothing," he answered sharply. "Unless I say otherwise."

"But—"

"Wait until we've got there," he told her, and she was silent.

The voluminous shadows mingled with the watery light dancing off the walls that echoed back every breath Sarah exhaled. In the dead quiet every inconspicuous sound became conspicuous. The rhythmic swish of the paddles passing through the water, the rustling of fabric as Jack rowed and Sarah shifted nervously in her seat. Suddenly she was very much aware that they were utterly alone—

Then they turned a bend and the light of the torches seemed as bright as the sun. Somewhere in the distance, Sarah could hear Barbossa talking to his men.

The boat thudded against the sand bank and Jack hopped out, surprising Sarah by offering her a hand as she stepped after him. As soon as her feet touched the ground he practically crushed her in a kiss that would have curled any weaker person's toes. "For good luck," he told her as he pulled away.

"Do we need that much?" She asked weakly. He chuckled.

"Come with me."

He pulled her along down a lit passage, seeming to follow the sound of Barbossa's voice through the twists and forks. When it was almost clear enough to make out the words, Jack stopped and turned to face her.

"In here." He gestured to a damp-looking hollow in the rock's surface that curled around and created a hidden slot behind the wall. Sarah abruptly realized it was meant for _her_.

When she just stared at him, he groaned in exasperation. "Listen, if anyone catches you, they'll kill you. Hide here until you hear all the men leave. Don't come out for any other reason, unless someone you can trust tells you to. Do you understand?"

He started to gently push her in, but she grabbed his hand. "Can I trust you?" She asked steadily.

"Sarah," he hissed. "There's not—"

"Can I _trust_ _you_?"

Jack closed his eyes tightly, then opened them and looked her squarely in the eye. "Yes, love. You can trust me."

She smiled and raised her lips to his, allowing herself to completely enjoy and draw out the kiss as she pleased. Jack seemed to be enjoying himself as well until he suddenly shoved her back. "Good god, woman," he rasped, whirling her around and bundling her into the little hollow.

Sarah laughed to herself for a solid five minutes, before realizing he had managed to pat her on the bum as he left.

۞

**Author's Note: **Gah, a long wait. But I am sure you all had lovely presents to keep you entertained while I was away. Hope you enjoyed the chapter, I'm thinking the next one will be the last. Also, I've been seriously considering whether or not I will actually continue this as a trilogy like the movies. Throughout the story I've been wanting to write something with a woman actually from Jack's time, and the unavoidable reality verses fantasy dilemma has been irritating me to no end. Unless I find a way to stop that from eating away at my brain, I'm thinking I won't continue Sarah's story after _One Wish_.


	13. Limbo

۞

_**Chapter Thirteen:**_

_Limbo_

۞

Several long minutes passed—though to Sarah they seemed like hours, or possibly the rest of the week. The dank, salty smell of the rock wall she was pressed against made her feel nauseous. The echoing trails of speech traveling from the main cave were impossible to decipher.

She waited—

And waited—

And waited.

No footsteps, no voices—nothing was coming down that passageway anytime soon. The pirates weren't leaving. _Jack can handle himself, _she reassured herself uneasily.

…_But can he handle Barbossa?_

Jack wasn't one to ask for help, but then again he wasn't one to need it either. Will would be there, after all—though, granted, he probably couldn't do much to help his friend while bound and gagged.

Sarah abruptly decided this much thinking wouldn't do her any good. Jack would find a way. He always, it rather irritatingly seemed, did.

The pounding of heavy footsteps sent Sarah's heart into overdrive, as the low growls and jeers that anticipated the Pearl's crew grew louder. Like a violent gust of wind, the pirates passed by her hidden nook. Shuffling, scraping, swearing, and stumbling, the noises washed over her and then passed as quickly as they had come. Behind her, near the entrance of the cave, came the sound of disturbed water as the men reached the sandbank. Then, slowly, the voices quieted, until Sarah could hear herself breathing.

Sarah waited a few tense seconds before peaking out of the alcove and glancing both directions down the passage. _Empty._ Tentatively, she stepped out into the open, taking a few steps forward and then looking over her shoulder again. Then, more confidently, she made her way down the tunnel, strangely aware of her borrowed pistol's absence.

As she came closer to the center of the caves, the sounds became more distinct. Above the jingle and clatter of shifting coins, Sarah could clearly hear Barbossa's gravelly drawl.

The entrance appeared ahead of her, glittering with gold and the water's reflections.

"I must admit Jack, I thought I had ye figured." Barbossa was leaning against a mound of treasure, two of his men flanking him as he observed Jack rummage through the copious swag. The seawater separated certain sections of the cave's floor, creating tiny islets piled high with doubloons, precious gems and other things of the like. Will stood on an islet across from Barbossa, very much alive, hands bound behind his back and assigned his own guard who was smirking obliviously.

"It turns out you're a hard man to predict."

_How the hell did you manage this? _Sarah wondered disbelievingly.

Jack looked up from his delving a mound over and shrugged. "Me, I'm dishonest," he said, rather honestly Sarah thought. "And you can always trust a dishonest man to be dishonest—honestly." He started towards the rest of his company, his finger raised in thought. "It's the honest ones you want to watch out for," he warned. "Because you can never predict…when they're going to do something…incredibly…" At this point he gave Will a piercing look, "…stupid."

The sharp screech of metal made Sarah jump as Jack seized a sword wedged into the treasure next to him and tossed it across the small stream to Will—at the same time unsheathing his own sword and preparing for the onslaught Barbossa was already bringing his way.

Will, to Sarah's astonishment, twisted around and caught the sword easily, somehow slicing the ropes binding his wrist in the doing. The bewildered trio of pirates left to watch him barely had time to pull out their own swords before he was attacking.

Sarah clenched and unclenched her fists in preparation. Jack had said he only needed her if Will was dead, and, well, Will wasn't—but that didn't mean she was going to stand around and watch. While Jack seemed to be managing his own fight well (he had just cut Barbossa's hat to shreds), Will had three immortal pirates to keep off.

Scanning her surroundings, Sarah snatched a sword with a ruby-encrusted hilt from the treasure-littered ground. It was heavier than she had expected and she stumbled forward attempting a few practice swings. _Well, no time for lessons now._

Skipping clumsily down the rocky slope, she made her way over to Will's islet, smiling briefly as she saw him force an urn (gold, of course) onto one of his combatant's heads. The man stumbled blindly into the stream, and as Will turned he caught sight of Sarah trotting towards him.

"Sarah!" He exclaimed, smiling breathlessly. "How did you—?" He cut himself off mid-sentence, staring over her left shoulder in stunned silence. She followed his gaze and felt goosebumps rise on her flesh.

Jack and Barbossa's struggle had traveled from the cave floor up onto a raised platform of rock jutting out of the wall. Now they stood several feet apart—Jack with a sword plunged straight through his stomach.

He staggered backwards into the pool of moonlight shining through a gap in the ceiling, and suddenly his flesh melted away. His clothing turned to tatters and his face to rotted skin and bone. Gold teeth glittered freely, unimpeded by lips that shriveled into nothing.

Casually, he brought his hand up and examined it curiously. "That's interesting," she could hear him say, and wanted to strangle him for being so calm. Then the chink of metal flitted through his fingers and Sarah saw the tiny gleam of gold that explained everything.

"Christ," Sarah exclaimed rather loudly, and Jack turned to look down at her with a grin.

"Couldn't resist, love."

Barbossa spat in disgust and lunged at him, reminding Sarah there were still two fully capable pirates to fend off. Will turned on his heel and attacked with newly obtained vigor. "Mind your surroundings," Will panted, instructing her as she only just fended off a blow from the shorter of the two pirates, who was considerably stocky and had a thick beard hiding the lower half of his face.

"Watch how he shifts his weight, and his wrist."

Breathlessly, Sarah tried to comply. Her heart was pounding so hard that her entire body shook with it, as the fierce grinning face of her attacker loomed closer and closer. She awkwardly deflected his sword with her own, her grip drooping under the unexpected weight of her weapon and the forcefulness of his. Though the help Will managed to give probably saved her life, she couldn't win her first fight against an experienced murderer. She already felt sick at the stench of his exposed, rotting carcass. As his hideous grin grew, his raw white cheekbones jutted out from the brown mottled web of skin that made up his face. She was so transfixed by it she lost her footing, and his sword skated across her arm, hacking out a thick chunk of flesh. Sarah gasped as her knees buckled. A stinging pain, followed by a great pulse of blood followed, blood as bright as the rubies on her sword's hilt flowing out between the fingers of the hand she clapped over the gash.

"I'm going ta teach you the meaning of pain," He threatened gleefully, raising his sword over her. Sarah scrambled for hers, but it was at her feet, just out of reach.

She squeezed her eyes shut.

"You like pain?"

The voice was oddly familiar. Sarah opened her eyes.

Elizabeth smiled dryly at the pirate, then swung back the huge wooden staff she was holding and hit him full force in the face, breaking his neck and making his head snap backwards.

"Try wearing a corset."

She then offered the end of the staff to Sarah, who propped herself up and got to her feet with a weak smile. "Thank you," she managed, sucking in a breath as she peeled her hand off her wound. "Well said. How'd you get off the ship?"

"Here." Ignoring the question, Elizabeth deftly tore off the end of Sarah's shirtsleeve and wound it tightly around the injury. "That will stop the bleeding for now. Are you still with us?" She raised the staff questioningly and stepped towards Will, who was fighting off the one uninjured pirate, and had the other, who had finally managed to get the urn off his head, coming up behind him. The pirate whose neck had just been broken already was trying to fix his own head back on.

"Yeah," Sarah replied, if a little shakily, and took hold of the staff as well. Elizabeth grinned and started forward, then wheeled around and stared as the skeletal forms of Jack and Barbossa fought a ways away.

"Whose side is Jack on?" She demanded angrily.

"At the moment?" Will asked, coming up behind them, staring at Elizabeth quite unabashedly. She gave him an almost shy smile, which Sarah thought was utterly ridiculous coming from the girl who had just whacked a pirate's head off, but there was no time for debating.

Even with all three pirates now coming at them, Sarah felt strangely exhilarated. Somehow, mostly due to Will's skill and Elizabeth's energy (though Sarah thought she got in a kick somewhere), they managed to get all three pirates in a straight line, then impaled them all together on the staff.

"A pirate shish-kabob," Sarah said pleasantly, as Will shoved one of the bearded man's own bombs into his ribcage and then pushed the three pirates out of the moonlight.

"No fair," the man managed to whimper, before the bomb went off and the three men were blown, all clichés aside, to smithereens.

Without even a pause for victorious gloating, Will dashed towards the stone chest that held the Aztec gold, with Elizabeth and Sarah at his heels.

Jack was fighting just beside the chest's platform of gold and stone. He slashed Barbossa across the face and made a quick cut across his palm, pressing his own medallion to it and then throwing the cursed trinket up to Will, who by now was standing by the open chest.

Barbossa's gaze sliced through the air like a blade, and eyed his last resort. With the speed and neatness of a lifetime's practice, he withdrew his pistol, cocked it, and pointed it directly at Sarah as she made her way across the stream to Will.

Just when Sarah thought things were going too fast, they slowed to a near stop. Time came to a standstill, and though the silence was thunderous Sarah could hear every sound in the room. The dirt and cold metal grinding beneath impatient feet, the rattling breath of each startled bystander, the mocking rhythm of water against stone, and the edgy scrape of Barbossa's grimy nails against his pistol's trigger. The blood seeping from her arm slid like worms down her skin and dripped off the tips of her fingers. The air reeked of it—the coppery stench of scarlet patterns on metal, and the cold sweat that graced every person's brow.

Sarah was surprised to find herself reminiscing as, like every source had warned her, her life replayed itself behind her eyelids. Less surprisingly she felt nothing as she saw the forgotten birthdays, the green streamers, and the black funeral—the only image that stirred any emotion was that of her father on their sailboat, during one of their trips. His smile came easily, as it rarely did those days before he died. He stared at her with overpowering black-brown eyes and for a moment the barrel of the gun disappeared.

But that wasn't right. Her father's eyes were green.

The shot was the loudest noise she had ever heard, and for a second afterwards there was nothing at all. Then reality came rushing back to her and she breathed a huge—_bulletless_—sigh. Her heart contracted as she watched the smoke curl up from Jack's pistol, and as Barbossa dropped his own.

He glanced over at his nemesis in confusion, and then smiled comfortably. "Ten years you carry that pistol, and now you waste your shot."

Jack only stared.

"He didn't waste it," Will announced, and opened his clenched fist. Two coins fell and landed in the chest with a soft _chink_.

Barbossa stared in disbelief, then fumbled with the buttons of his coat. He tore open the fabric to reveal a plain white shirt with a black flower-shaped hole over his heart. A glossy crimson stain began to blossom around it, trailing down the wrinkled cotton.

"I feel…" Barbossa murmured, with a short witless smile, "…cold." And he fell with a solid thump onto the treasure beneath him, a bright green apple rolling leisurely out of his limp fingers. He was dead.

It was as though the entire cave heaved a sigh of relief. Some invisible weight lifted from Sarah's shoulders, as a man she barely knew left the living world.

With a loud splash, she leapt into the water and rushed towards Jack, who was staring at his slain enemy in blank contemplation. Vaguely she heard Elizabeth and Will talking, in what were of course strained, polite tones, but she didn't bother to turn and encourage them.

The corners of Jack's mouth were turned up almost undetectably. His eyes were wide and intense, focused like sunlight through a magnifying glass. He didn't react to Sarah's presence at all until she placed a hesitant hand on his arm. The forceful gaze was transferred to her and she squirmed inwardly.

There was really no outline for talking to someone just after they've killed their worst enemy.

"It's over, then," she finally said, not sure whether to sound cheerful or solemn.

A wicked grin abruptly spread across his face. "No it's not, love," he murmured, eyeing her roguishly. "The _Pearl_'s waiting for us."

Sarah knew she was supposed to look pleased at the word 'us', but all of a sudden she couldn't stomach it. A choked sort of fear took hold of her vocal cords and smothered whatever sound might have come out of them.

Jack was correct far too often. It wasn't over.

This was the end of the curse of the _Black Pearl_—that had only been book one. There were other adventures to follow, most likely just as terrifying and life threatening, and as far as Sarah knew she would be stuck here during all of them.

But, as time went on, was 'stuck' really the right word for it? And if it wasn't—if some part of her mind _perhaps_ wanted to experience all the terror and the danger and the seasickness—was it the it the part she should pay heed to, or ignore?

As usual, Jack interrupted her; though she couldn't blame him, really, since she had been staring at him anxiously for almost a full minute without saying anything.

"You look as if you're about to vomit," he observed bluntly.

Hastily she shook her head. "No, no, I was—"

"Good," he interrupted yet again. Gesturing expansively, he placed a hand on the small of her back and guided her towards one of the more lavish looking piles of treasure. "If you think you can hold it in a bit longer, we can take a look around."

"Knowing you, it's probably more of the taking than the looking."

۞

**Author's Note: **OMGNOTLASTCHAPTER! I fooled you all—including myself. I forgot how much I actually had left in the film, as my judgment is crap. Plus, thirteen chapters? Unlucky, me thinks.Next chapter will be at least _nearing_ the last one, if I don't have a fit of crazy. Which is not at all unlikely.

Anyways, after announcing that there will be no sequel to _One Wish_, I started to think of ways to make it up to you all. Yes, I do look at my hits and I know there are more than six of you out there (still dare you to prove it!). Thanks to my lengthy pondering, I have come up with several ideas:

1. Instead of full-length stories, I could write a few oneshots over a longer period of time, updating you all on the characters' situations in accordance to the upcoming sequels.

2. Instead of ending where _CotB_ ends, I could continue the story for a few more chapters and compact what I planned to reveal about Sarah's time-traveling abilities when the two sequel fics were still on the board. This would probably, almost definitely, very nearly certainly, require heavy editing of the first chapter, but if you're willing to go back and read a teensy bit…I rather like this idea. It gives you a longer story, probably at least one _good_ JS scene, and helps the story make a helluva lot more sense.

3. I could do both 1 and 2 if you are all extremely nice and review this chapter, and the chapters to come, _a lot_. /charming smile/

4. I could perform the entire thing live on Broadway and get you all the best seats in the house.

5. Not.

6. Some random idea you guys come up with besides _just writing the sequels_.

So, as always, review with your opinion on the chapter and the way I continue the story. Pretty please?

Ta loves!


	14. Red Sky At Night

۞

_**Chapter Fourteen:**_

_Red Sky At Night_

۞

"I'm sorry."

Sarah nodded briefly in acknowledgement, but Elizabeth's words meant nothing to her. She stared with dull eyes at the empty expanse of water where the _Black Pearl_ should have been waiting for them—for her and Jack.

She looked over at the would-be captain. His face was crumpled with disappointment, making the bejewelled crown and other golden ornaments he had bedecked himself with now seem in horrible humour. "They've done what's right by them," he conceded bleakly, returning her gaze. "Can't expect more than that."

The short trip back to the _Dauntless_ was quiet and uncomfortable. Will rowed in frigid silence, his entire body radiating hostile energy. His eyes would flicker over to Elizabeth as if pulled by a string, but other than that he showed no signs of recognition that there were living people in the boat with him. Elizabeth did not look around at all. She simply stared into the water, her form drooping like the stem of a flower too tired to hold up its blossom any longer.

Jack's gaze was downcast. Sarah followed its direction to his two unshackled wrists. He was pressing them together, palms facing up, and for once she knew what he was thinking.

As the bulging hull of the _Dauntless_ came nearer, the invisible manacles brought her wrists together too.

۞

The return voyage to Port Royal took just over two days. Instead of the brig, the Commodore awarded Sarah with confinement to her cabin for the trip. They didn't want her jailed with what was left of Barbossa's crew, now wholly mortal—or at least that was what Norrington had said. Sarah suspected it was more that they didn't want her speaking with Jack. There were two cells in the ship, and they couldn't decide if it was more dangerous to put her in the one with the twenty or so bloodthirsty murderers, or Captain Jack Sparrow—of whom Sarah could no longer deny she had been in league with.

She only saw Elizabeth once; during a short stroll around deck she had managed to talk the guard into letting her have (as long as she was shackled). The weary bride-to-be told her that Will had taken up lodgings, to put it nicely, in the brig with Jack. "But I'm negotiating with my father and—" her voice weakened ever so slightly, "—fiancé. I think they might grant him clemency once they hear the whole story."

"Jack?" Sarah exclaimed, without thinking. She felt herself blushing as soon as the words had escaped her mouth—of course not _Jack_. Elizabeth didn't have any reason to even lift a finger for Jack.

"Will," Elizabeth corrected distractedly, her eyes focused somewhere behind Sarah. "But I should go. If we're caught speaking to each other they might lock me up as well." With a weak whisper of a laugh, she headed back towards her cabin, and the guard took Sarah back to hers.

۞

The _Dauntless_ was not as fast as the _Interceptor_, to be sure, but they made fair time, anchoring in Port Royal early morning, on the fifteenth of September. Dawn had yet to transpire, as delicately carved waves reached shore in a colourless gloom. The sand was fresh and untouched after a night's sleep.

Sarah was one of the last people to leave the _Dauntless_, and as she stumbled out of her rowboat, the constriction of her bound hands throwing her off balance, she could see Barbossa's crew being escorted up to Fort Charles by a cautiously generous troop of redcoats. The dimness of the not-yet-morning made it impossible to distinguish anything but the rough outline of their defeated forms.

"What's to become of the _Black Pearl's_ crew?" She asked of her own guards. To her bittersweet delight she had been assigned Murtogg and Mullroy. They, by now, had no problem speaking genially with their charges.

"A mass hanging," Murtogg told her, sniffing pretentiously. "Commodore wants them off and done with as soon as possible."

Sarah shuddered as she watched the doomed men shuffle their way along, remembering the feral glow in their eyes and the sweltering heat of their breath. Even cursed, they had seemed so ferociously alive. It was hard to imagine the breath cooling and the eyes fading. It seemed impossible that they could be conquered by the gawky coarseness of a noose.

It was a relief to walk in the open air again. The streets of town were giving off a collective, steady pulse of _inhale, exhale_. Even the buildings were asleep. Most of the damage from the raid had been repaired, or at least tidied. Port Royal had picked itself up, brushed off its knees and gotten back to work.

When they reached the lofty doors to the Fort, spread open in preparation for their arrival, Sarah felt a mind-numbing dread swell inside of her. She didn't know how people survived prison—just two days stuck in a cabin on a ship had nearly driven her mad. As Mullroy and Murtogg tugged her through the doors, Sarah could see Barbossa's crew lined up on the far side of the square. Between them was the scaffold. She turned away.

"Come along, miss." They strode past the armoury and towards a familiar, plain-looking door that lead to the bottom chamber of the fort's left turret. Mullroy in front and Murtogg at her rear, they guided her inside and down the narrow stairs.

The jail was just as she had remembered it: dusty and cramped. It seemed so slipshod and slapdash compared to the impressive stone that the rest of the fort was made of—almost like an afterthought. They wanted a fort to use in battle, but they didn't expect to take any prisoners? Or was it that any man taken captive was hanged straight away, like those waiting in the square now?

The thought was leading her down a morbid path of contemplation that she preferred not to follow. She transferred her attention instead to the cavalier figure awaiting.

It was the first time she had seen Jack since he had been taken below deck on the Dauntless, at Isla de Muerta. She had been expecting him to look haggard, or at least anxious. But the eyes that glittered at her in the blue shadows of the jail were as calculating as ever. It surprised her at how comforting it was—Jack was almost becoming…_supportive_.

She held back a dubious chuckle and gave him a confidential smile, as though they were having an entire conversation in front of the two redcoats without the men realizing it.

"You won't be sharing this time, I'm afraid," Mullroy informed them dutifully, unlocking the cell at the far end, a ways away from Jack's. Sarah's rising cheer quickly plummeted.

"Why not?" She demanded.

"Captain Gillette's orders," he informed her, as Murtogg flipped through the ring of keys for the one to her manacles. "And it's customary, you being a lady."

Sarah gave them her best doleful, teary eyed look—playing the damsel in distress was a role relatively new to her, but with these two blundering Englishmen she was sure she could pull it off. "I've been locked up for the last three days," she lied dramatically. "Please, I just want some company."

They both looked hesitant. "It's not our place to decide," Mullroy began unsurely.

"Of course," she whispered, eyes downcast. "I'm sorry. I shouldn't put pressure on you for my own sake."

After a guilty pause, Murtogg suggested, "Maybe just the one next to him."

Sarah smiled inwardly as her wrists were freed and she was ushered into her cell.

"Good day, Miss Burke." With a rather unconvincing dark look in Jack's direction, they trudged back up the stairs and left.

She quickly approached the bars separating her and Jack, eyeing them in dislike before stretching her arms through and leaning against them tiredly. She hadn't slept very well during the voyage, mostly lounging around in a hazy frame of something like thought.

"Where's Will?"

"Haven't seen him. The Commodore came and freed him a few hours before we docked. Knowing Elizabeth, she's gotten him cleared." Jack, gracefully as he could, took a seat against the brick wall and next to the set of bars he and Sarah shared. Sarah flopped down beside him, pulling one knee up to her chest and letting the other bend comfortably underneath.

"How long d'you think we're going to be stuck here before she remembers we were there too?" Sarah laughed—the sound was cut off as her mouth stretched into a yawn.

"Long enough for you to sleep a bit, I should think."

"Wake me up if anything interesting happens."

"Likewise," Jack replied, tugging his hat over his eyes.

۞

When Sarah's eyes opened again, it was to the hot yellow radiance of a Port Royal afternoon. Chunks of sunlight were scattered along the jail floor, divided by the thick rods striping the windows. In the distance, the sounds of townspeople, animals, and a general clatter of activity had replaced the muffled hush present that morning. It was, as usual, hot and dry—but not as unbearable as last time. She had, unfortunately enough, become somewhat accustomed to the jail's atmosphere.

"Thank god," a voice muttered beside her. She lazily turned her head to see Jack boring his eyes into her forehead. "When I said sleep, I didn't mean practise your ruddy hibernation skills."

"Bored, are you?" She groaned and used her hands to push herself into a proper sitting position. Her neck had been bent against the wall while the rest of her lay horizontal on the ground. Rubbing it and other miscellaneous sore muscles, she watched Jack fiddle inattentively with the lining of his hat.

"I managed to stop myself from devouring your appetizing lunch," he told her, gesturing to a wooden slat with a hunk of bread and mug with water just inside her cell. Unenthusiastically she reached forward and placed it on her lap, chewing on the crumbly, hardened bread.

"Did you get some?"

He gave her a look. "They're not going to starve the catch of the century to death—they want to show me off." He examined his nails importantly. "Not that they'd ever own to the fact."

"Excuse _me_," Sarah mumbled in amusement, picking off the stale bits that coated her meal. The water had already warmed a bit in the heat, but at least it wetted her sandpaper throat. After she was finished, she slid the tray back towards the cell door, as though she expected someone to come pick it up. "What time is it?"

"Late afternoon, judging by the sun—three or four o'clock, perhaps. The hanging was just before noon."

She looked up, startled. "You mean they're already dead?"

"All of them," Jack confirmed, his gaze sharp and precise.

Sarah took a shaky breath. She had expected to feel different—relieved, perhaps. Instead, she was almost…_distressed_. It bothered her that they had been alive when she closed had her eyes, and now that she had opened them, they were gone. "I…"

"I didn't think I should wake you," murmured Jack. "The crowd was unpleasant."

Nodding weakly, Sarah leaned her head against the thick bar where Jack's shoulder might have been if they were in the same cell. "This is so bizarre," she said quietly. "I mean, one day I'm selling books and the next I'm being tried for piracy."

"You sold books?" Jack asked curiously.

Sarah's eyes widened briefly as she realized her slip-up, and she replied falteringly, "No, I—well, I mean to say—nevermind."

"I really _hate_ to quote Will, but I'm not a simpleton, Sarah."

She winced. "I'd really rather we didn't talk about this."

"Why not?" He demanded. "We're stuck in a jail with nothing on our minds but a lot of dead blokes above our heads—there really is no better time to tell a long and most likely dramatic story."

Sarah's jaw tightened and she fixed an angry stare on him. "Look, you may be a very open, conversational kind of person, but I'm not, and I _never was_, so I don't see any reason to tell you everything about me, just because you got me arrested!" Looking back down at her knees, she added, "I don't owe you anything."

Jack shifted uneasily in the thick silence.

"I can respect that, love," he replied cautiously, smoothly. "I just want to know a bit about you, not hear all your secrets. I know I didn't get you away on the _Pearl_." The timbre of his voice changed, becoming tighter, more reserved. "And if you really think it's my fault you're here—alright, but I'd like to think you made a few choices on your own."

She was silent. Sarah knew it hadn't been fair of her to blame her situation on him, but his prying had put her on edge. She didn't know how to tell him who she was—but the part that bothered her wasn't that he wanted to know; it was that she was afraid he would think she was lying. She _wanted_ his respect, plain and simple, but like most people Jack seemed to encounter, she would never own to the fact.

Since she hadn't replied, Jack said further, "What you told me on the island goes to the grave, if you doubt my word."

"I don't," she answered hurriedly; any other answer would have been the worst kind of insult. "That's not it at all. My past is just…" She smiled feebly at him. "As far as you need to know, I'm not married, I don't have children—I don't have anything, for that matter—and I'm not anyone important."

"No criminal record to speak of?" He asked, eyebrows arched wickedly.

Her smile grew subconsciously. "None whatsoever."

"I find that hard to believe."

"Oh?" She gave him a look of mock offence.

"You seem so comfortable around us wrongdoers, is all, love."

"You learn to adapt," she replied casually, ineffectually wiping dust off the creamy white of her borrowed uniform. "There was no time or space for breaking the law where I came from."

He wrinkled his nose in disgust. "What a boring life you must have led."

"Oh, indeed."

۞

The hours passed with an uncanny quickness. The sun hung low in the sky and turned a ripe, ruddy orange, spreading a copper stream along the horizon, until finally dropping out of sight and leaving the Caribbean sea awash in a ruby twilight.

Sarah, limbs sore and throat dry, saw none of the beautiful sunset, nor could her cell's tiny window allow her to behold the full affect of the red night sky. Instead, she sat next to her loquacious cellmate and, after a surprisingly trying half hour lecture explaining how to play, joined Jack in an endless tournament of ticktacktoe, intermitted with bursts of conversation and snide comments from whoever was losing at the time.

"D'you think they'll come light the torches soon?" Sarah asked, straining to see the x's and o's drawn in the dirt, as the shadows grew denser. Not wanting to whine, she didn't mention the declining temperature of the bricks behind them. Jack appeared so intensely focused on their ridiculous game, she wondered if he had even taken notice.

"Soon enough," came the robotic reply.

She groaned. "How can you _still_ be enjoying this? We must've played over a hundred games by now."

"Love, you're just angry because I'm winning," he said, thoughtfully filling in another square. His hand was pushed out of the way by Sarah's own as she wiped the ground clean.

"We weren't keeping track, idiot. Now please, for the sake of—_Will_, who will have no one to relentlessly insult him if you die of hypothermia, get the guard to light the torches!"

"How convincingly you argue," he observed sweetly. Then, taking hold of the wooden slab used to serve their lunch, he began to bang it on the bars of his cell.

For a moment of her ears living in their own personal hell, Sarah didn't think it would work, but then amidst the clanging she heard the thud of a door hitting a wall, and Murtogg appeared on the narrow stairs.

"What is it?" He demanded irately. "You're a prisoner—you've no right to go summoning us like that!"

"It worked though, didn't it," Jack countered. He was about to continue with what no doubt would have been a longwinded, intricately phrased insult, but Sarah interrupted.

"Light the torches, please," she said wearily. "This jail _is_ partially underground, in case you'd forgotten."

As soon as Murtogg left and the warmth of the firelight spread over her, Sarah was at ease. She rested her chin contentedly on her raised knee and gave Jack a sidelong look. "When d'you think the Commodore will finally pay us a visit?"

For a brief moment, she saw the steady haughtiness that surrounded Jack's countenance flicker, like a television screen losing its feed. Then in a second it was back, and the composure of his reply made her think she had imagined it altogether. "I expect he's off powdering the collective wig of the king's navy. No doubt he'll be around soon enough."

She laughed, gracing the pirate with a foolish smile. "I'm actually quite eager to experience my first proper buccaneer's trial."

"I doubt they'll try you," he replied quickly. "You are, after all, only a delicate _woman_, victimized by the likes of a fierce and infamous pirate captain. No, Elizabeth probably had no trouble clearing you."

"And you," Sarah added, phrasing it as a statement, meaning it as a question. She met his obsidian gaze and nearly blurted out how anxious she _really_ was for him.

A beat of silence, then, "And me." The light caught on Jack's gold teeth as he quietly agreed. With a yawn, he stretched his arms up and lazily took hold of one of the bars above their heads. Suddenly his vacant eyes sparked, widening, and he pushed the brim of his hat up as he stood.

Sarah stared up at him. "What?"

"Look," he said, grinning.

She glanced at the rusted bars separating them in confusion. "What?" She repeated, torn between interest and annoyance, as she got to her feet. Then she saw it.

The hole made by the Black Pearl's cannons during their last stay had been mended with clean, bright maroon bricks—but a section of bars starting at Sarah's middle, stretching about three feet up, were still bent out of shape—probably because the only sober blacksmith in town had been out pirating. There was a gap where the metal should have gone into the wall—wide enough for a relatively slim person to squeeze through.

Sarah smiled. "God bless the negligible wits of Murtogg and Mullroy."

"Come on, then, love." Jack reached through and took her hand as she pressed her back against the wall, lifting her left leg and sticking it through the opening. She had to duck awkwardly to fit her head through, and her red jacket ripped on the jagged metal. For a moment her right foot was wedged between the bricks and the metal, and then she stumbled neatly through into Jack's steadying grasp.

"That was easy," she laughed in surprise. She caught his eye and her breathless smile quickly died away. His irises were black and bright, the beginnings of a smirk tugging at the corners of his lips.

_Oh. _A ball of tension suddenly exploded in Sarah's stomach. Now that she thought about it, there was really no other reason for her to switch cells. _This_ was the only thing they needed to get rid of the bars for.

Warily, she pulled off the ripped jacket and kicked it to the side as it hit the ground. "Any better?" She asked quietly.

Without answering, he inclined his head and lightly kissed the corner of her mouth. His lips moved like feathers along her jaw line, not kissing, just brushing, but close enough that Sarah could feel him smile when she sucked in her breath. Absently she noted his hat had fallen off.

She refused to let herself think—about the guards outside, about Will and Elizabeth, about tomorrow. She drunk in the deliciousness of his nimble, precise hands, as one held her against him and the other drew playful swirls on a bare shoulder. Her own fingers clung to his back, digging in when his lips moved lower or higher, underneath her ear or down her collarbone. The top buttons of her shirt had somehow come undone, and the lower ones began to follow suit. Beneath she wore a loose but thin man's undershirt—thin enough to feel the seemingly unbearable heat from Jack's own chest as he pressed her closer.

They hadn't moved in the few short minutes since Sarah stumbled in, but it seemed she had been everywhere for hours. Any sensible thought slipped away as soon as it developed—it was like she had a fever—the torches she had so adamantly wanted lit needed to be put out or she would burn up in the sweltering warmth. Abruptly, Jack's calloused palms met the bare skin of her middle and she seized up, and then relaxed into him. She bent her head and forced his lips to meet hers in an insistent kiss.

Without realizing it, she had begun to tug at his belt. "Jack," she murmured mindlessly, as they stopped for breath.

He watched her lips as if in a trance. "Sarah."

"The people outside…" she started, unsure.

"They won't hear." His tone was almost stern. "Don't be afraid."

"I'm not," she gasped.

۞

**Author's Note: **Before the apologies, may I just say, _phwoar_. Enjoyable scene to write.

I know, my dears, it has been well over a month. I experienced a bought of writer's block, quite randomly, and then had some personal stuff to work out (just as ghastly as it sounds), but now I'm back, and so is Jack…Yes, that was a little lame. You will one day forgive me. _Anyways_, thanks to you all for being patient! I've got a rough idea of how I'll sum this whole time travel matter up, so the next chapter _should_ be coming soon. I hope you enjoyed this one, and caught on to "red sky at night, sailor's delight". Wink wink, nudge nudge, and so forth.


	15. Beginning

۞

_**Chapter Fifteen:**_

_Beginning_

۞

Sarah's side ached.

Her head swam for a moment as she opened her eyes to the pre-dawn murkiness of her cell. Purple shadows pooled in each corner, slithering up her legs and along the floor as she studied its dusty surface in dismay.

Under her legs, propping her feet up, were a pair of brown sailor's boots. Slung across the bars between hers and Jack's cells was the red jacket of a naval uniform, along with a plain brown vest and ragged sash.

And she wasn't quite sure whose shirt she was wearing.

Smothering a smile with limp fingers, she pushed herself up into a sitting position and stretched languorously. She had been propped up against the bars of her cell, one arm hanging through the bars and consequently sleeping. She kneaded it gently, trying to expel the unpleasant prickly sensation.

Jack himself was about a foot away, unfortunately on the other side of the bars. He was dressed from the waist down, bringing Sarah to the oddly satisfying conclusion that she was wearing _his_ shirt.

As he slept, his limbs reaching in every direction, she silently examined the enlightening flesh of his torso. The deep maroon circles on his right pectoral—gunshot wounds—had been surprisingly smooth, she remembered; a mere dip in an otherwise even surface. The 'p' burned into his wrist was hard and calloused, probably from lack of treatment. It had brushed against her many times—on purpose, she suspected. Only Jack would think to use scars in such a _resourceful _fashion.

She didn't think she could forget it—which was probably what he hoped for—and, startlingly, she didn't want to get up and run before his eyes opened too. The horrified feeling of vulnerability that had strangled what relationships she had back home was nowhere to be found. In this cramped little jail cell, next to a thief and a murderer, she could finally be comfortable.

The irony was almost too much to bear.

It wasn't that she had suddenly fallen into deep, unfathomable love—not in the least. Her heart still wavered at the thought of Jack. Some part of her saw only the kind, cautious man who had stroked her hair as she cried. Normally, this would be all she needed—but something else stirred in her. A calculating reason she didn't know she had, that saw his shifting black eyes and knew, underneath, he was just as erratic.

But she didn't run. She didn't curl up in a ball and hope he couldn't see her, though back home she would already have been scrambling into her car and slamming the gas pedal. She felt sturdier, even as she was covered in dirt and sweat, aching in several unmentionable places, and as far as she knew a convicted criminal.

It wasn't finding love that had cleared her head, though she had always believed that would be it; in the end, it was just sex—sex without complications, without promises, and without the idea that she was giving up some piece of her independence. Jack didn't, it turned out, have some sort of extraordinary magical power that would capture her and never let go. He didn't have time for that, anyways. He had already given his heart to his ship, and maybe long ago to someone else just as stubborn as he was.

They were too similar for her to ever find answers in him. She was relieved to realize it—she didn't think she could bear living on her toes with a man who lied about was colour his eyes were, even as you were looking him square in the face.

"Love?"

Granted, he was _unbelievably_ attractive in the morning.

"I'm over here," she said, when he probed the area beside him in close-eyed confusion.

He glanced up at her tiredly, propping himself up on his elbows. "Why in hell are you over there?"

"I didn't think it would make a good impression if the guards walked in on us in various states of undress, in the same cell," she explained dryly.

"Wise move," the pirate said appreciatively. He pulled his vest through the bars and began to put it on when he came to his senses. "Shirt," he muttered, reminded Sarah rather hilariously of a blind man as he patted the ground around him.

With only a slight flushing of her cheeks, she slipped the mentioned article off and handed it to him, one arm covering her bare breasts. He grinned and took it from her, staring at her longer than necessary before finally releasing her arm. She swore at him under her breath and tugged her own shirt out from under her rear. It was wrinkled and splotched with dirt, but it would suffice.

Jack watched her quite unabashedly as she shrugged it on, glowering. "No reason to be shy, love," he told her, an undercurrent of laughter in his quiet voice. "It's nothing I haven't seen before."

She would have slapped him if there hadn't been steel bars separating them. Instead, she stuck a hand through and pinched his arm as hard as she could. He yelped and grabbed her hand. "Not having regrets, are we?"

She smiled dourly. "Oh, no. I suppose I should thank you, actually."

"Is that so," he said, smirking. Without warning, he pulled her hand all the way through and kissed her soundly. She didn't struggle, but she didn't respond quite as enthusiastically as the night before. He leaned back, his mind churning behind heavy-lidded eyes, trying to probe her weary expressionless face for answers.

"Go back to sleep," she advised softly.

He nodded and released his grip, falling back to the floor. "You're a fair kisser, love." His breath evened out slowly. "I'll give you that."

She snorted half-heartedly and watched as he slipped back into sleep. Perhaps they didn't suit each other in the long run, but she would always have a kiss for Jack Sparrow.

۞

The colourless morning sun was finally beginning to warm her up when Sarah heard the jail door open with a loud _thud_ and several pairs of feet hurry solemnly down the short stairs. Jack sat up with a start at the noise and joined her in eyeing their guests distastefully.

James Norrington had rarely appeared more dismal. He was the picture of authority in faultless blue velvet and crisp daunting white. While blossoming clouds of dust quickly surrounded the other two officers' feet, the Commodore seemed to repel the substance with a sharp glance at the floor and a muttered curse Sarah assumed they weren't meant to hear.

He looked up and met her candid stare. She was still sore over the ease with which he had confined her to her claustrophobia-inducing cabin, but the tired lines on his face softened her hard features ever so slightly. He looked as though he hadn't had a pleasant thought in days, and his eyes—a very delicate shade of green, she noticed absently—seemed sunken into his head thanks to the dark circles below them. From nowhere, her mind conjured up the image of her father approaching her with open arms, after she had had a particularly hard day at school. _Hug? _He would say, in a ridiculous baby voice that had always embarrassed her, even as she returned the embrace.

She thought Norrington would probably throw her in an insane asylum instead of a jail if she tried the move on him, but the idea made her smile nonetheless. To her surprise, he raised his eyebrows in a silent reply, and for a brief moment she thought she saw the corners of his mouth twitch. Still, he didn't look anything like a man who had just simultaneously rescued the woman he loved and captured his sworn professional enemy.

"Tea time already, Commodore?" Jack was now leaning against the wall of his cell, twirling his hat around one finger.

"If only my task were as delightful as you suggest, Mr. Sparrow," the man replied, smiling humourlessly. He signalled to the two lower ranking redcoats at his side, and one moved forward to unlock Jack's cell.

Immediately, Sarah stiffened. When Jack stood, rather resignedly, she realized, her nerves twisted into fierce painful knots.

"What's going on?" She demanded, as they cuffed him and took hold of his arms, escorting him towards the stairs. Stumbling to her feet, she hurriedly shoved an arm through the front of her cell and reached for him, but the fabric of his shirt slipped through her fingers. When he wouldn't meet her gaze, she grabbed Norrington's sleeve instead.

"Commodore?"

He looked down at the hand on his sleeve, and then at the wide inquiring eyes staring him down. "Jack Sparrow has been convicted by special tribunal," he rattled off with a sigh. "He is sentenced to death by hanging this morning in Fort Charles."

She stood very still for a moment, waiting for him to correct himself, tell her he was mistaken and Jack was certainly not heading for the hangman's noose as they spoke. But the man said nothing, merely lingering unresponsively in the silence. "He knew," she whispered finally.

"Since our return to Port Royal," Norrington confirmed. "As for your trial—"

۞

Sarah awoke a few minutes later, the blackness that had swarmed her vision gradually receding to reveal a pair of scrutinizing green eyes.

"You fainted," the Commodore informed her, pulling her into a sitting position by the wrist he had been slapping. She put a hand to her head, checking if it was still in place, and then noticed in sudden pleasure that his nice white pants were caked in the jail's unique, clinging mixture of sand and dirt.

"I wasn't about to tell you of your imminent death, if that's what you're worried about," he reassured her, the hint of sarcasm often present in his voice now slightly more pronounced. "Ms. Swann—" he paused rather anxiously at the name, "—managed to clear both you and Mr. Turner, though it took a bit longer in your case."

"Oh," Sarah mumbled, flushing pink. She suddenly felt acutely uncomfortable kneeling in the dirt with Port Royal's most important citizen. He was watching her worriedly, as though he thought that since she had fainted once, she could just randomly fall over at any given time.

He must have eventually noticed the tension, because he quickly got to his feet, pulling her neatly with him. She stepped hesitantly out of her cell in his wake, brushing herself off unsurely as he closed the door and locked it behind them.

"The ceremony is taking place in the upper battlement," he told her, and it took her a moment to realize he was referring to Jack's hanging. "I can escort you there, if you wish. If not—well, I'm afraid you have very little choice in the matter. Seeing as you have no relatives in Jamaica to speak of, nor financial support—or even housing, for that matter—Governor Swann—rather, his daughter has insisted we don't just turn you out onto the streets. In return for your clemency, we're sending you back to England."

Sarah felt her stomach turn over. "But I don't have any family in England either," she protested, taking a step backward.

"I don't mean to be rude, but when you reach Bristol, that will no longer be my problem." He smiled apologetically, and though Sarah knew he wasn't really sorry that he wouldn't have a homeless female friend of Jack Sparrow to add to his problems, she didn't resent him for it. She wouldn't have wanted her around either.

"Alright," she acquiesced quietly. "Take me to the hanging."

۞

The upper battlement of Fort Charles turned out to be in the same direction as the Commodore's private offices. They stopped there for a moment and she was given a very brief time, at least for a woman out of practise, to change into proper lady's attire: a off-white chemise, a cotton petticoat, two brown overskirts and a simple yellow bodice. She struggled into these and a pair of brown stockings, slipping on the too-small heels provided.

The Commodore reappeared, looking impatient, as she was taking a few practise steps. She glowered at him as the smile that had been threatening to show earlier that morning was tugged momentarily into the open. She clicked and clacked out the door after him, where he abruptly stopped and offered her his arm.

"Oh, now that I'm wearing a skirt," she muttered, unable to control herself. She looked appropriately mortified after she realized that he had heard, but Norrington only paused, his face undergoing a series of distortions.

"I don't suppose you could forget I said that," she said, red in the face. Just then, the loud zealous cry of an excited crowd bounded along the stone walls to meet their ears.

"I think I could manage it, Miss Burke," he replied gravely, any humour that had been present before slipping from his countenance. Sarah took in how much older it made him look—she realized he was probably around her age, though the stiff air of conviction he took on most of the time made one forget it. She had made an educated guess that Jack was in his mid-thirties, and she thought Norrington might be some years younger.

Of course, now would be an especially awkward time to ask.

۞

Sarah watched from the crowd as Jack's sentence was read off. A sick sort of numbness came over her as the stiff and starched magistrate spoke out in a clear, emotionless voice.

"_Jack Sparrow; be it known that_…"

"Sarah."

"Will?"

She hadn't seen him since Isla de Muerta. He was dressed in fine-tailored clothes, clearly more expensive than a regular smith's apprentice could afford. He smiled at her in an irritating, furtive sort of way that made questions bubble to the front of her mouth like boiling water.

"Don't worry," he said distractedly, looking at something over her shoulder. "Everything's going to be fine. Get to the side." With a hasty push, he sent her stumbling to the edge of the throng, without a word in edgewise.

"…_For your wilful commission of crimes against the crown. Said crimes being numerous in quantity and sinister in nature. The most grievous of these to be cited herewith: piracy, smuggling_…"

She tried to push back in through unmoving observers to find him, but they pushed her back with wordless grunts. She stood on her tiptoes exasperatedly, and saw him over the top of a dozen heads, approaching a raised archway where Elizabeth, her father, and the Commodore stood. She quickly followed, all the while Jack's words running through her head.

_It's the honest ones you want to watch out for—because you can never predict when they're going to do something incredibly—_

"Stupid," Sarah finished aloud, as the magistrate rattled off the unsurprisingly colourful list of crimes Jack had committed. He actually looked quite pleased with himself as he heard each one, making Sarah want smack him.

She reached the archway just as Will was moving away, making her bite her cheek to keep from swearing loudly. The three people he had just left appeared to be stunned. Elizabeth had a hand to her throat, while the Governor stared accusingly at her. Norrington tore his gaze away and glanced down in surprise to find Sarah beside him.

"Miss Burke?"

"Will—" She began, and the Commodore's eyes suddenly sparked. He moved guardedly towards the redcoats surrounding the square, scanning the shuffling crowd before returning his gaze to her.

They knew at the same time what was going to happen, and she saw him hesitate. It was just a second long enough; a second Sarah could have kissed him for.

The drums that had begun without Sarah's notice stopped in ghastly unison, and then with a creak of wood Jack plummeted out of sight.

She screamed thoughtlessly, and at the same time there was a surge in the crowd, near the scaffold—

Then, chaos.

Shoving sweaty, motionless bodies aside, Sarah plunged through the crowd towards the two—thank god—moving forms of Will and Jack, Norrington hot on her heels. Each time she jumped up to get her bearings, the two men had moved further up towards the sea-facing wall of the fort, leaving toppled redcoats in their wake.

It seemed as though they would succeed for a short time, as they evaded capture with suspiciously good calculation—but there were only two of them, and some thirty guards just in the perimeter of the upper battlement. It had to happen sooner or later.

When Sarah and her pursuers finally reached them, they were backed up against a sturdy stone buttress, some twenty bayonets prodding them from all sides. The Commodore pushed Sarah behind him and stared at the companions in freezing anger. "I thought we might have to endure some manner of ill-conceived escape attempt," he said to Will. "But not from you."

Behind Sarah, Governor Swann cut in furiously. "On our return to Port Royal, I granted you clemency—and this is how you thank me? By throwing in your lot with _him_?" He shook himself, affronted. "He's a _pirate_!"

"And a good man," Will said, unyielding. Unbeknownst to him, Jack was gesturing rather pompously to himself behind the younger man's back. Sarah turned her laugh into a tactful loud cough, adrenaline still pumping through her veins.

"You forget your place, Turner," Norrington said quietly, and Sarah thought that the man didn't really care what place Will decided to fill—except for when it was Elizabeth's favour—which it was.

"It's right here, between you and Jack."

_Speak of the devil_, Sarah thought, watching as aforementioned woman stepped in front of her to stand by Will, clutching his hand tightly. "As is mine," Elizabeth said shakily, though her gaze was steady.

Immediately, the atmosphere softened. In alarm, the governor frantically ordered all weapons lowered, and slowly the uncertain officers complied.

Norrington ignored the officers. He was staring fixedly at the entwined fingers of Will Turner and his fiancé. After a moment, he spoke, his tone now lacking any anger or conviction. "So," he began bleakly, already knowing the answer the question he was about to ask. "This is where your heart truly lies, then?"

"It is."

Not quite sure of what she was doing, Sarah rested her hand lightly on the Commodore's back, where only she could see it. He did not visibly react, but the muscles under his coat stiffened and she was overwhelmed with sympathy.

Jack, who was always _quite_ sure of what he was doing, stepped forward brightly. "Well, I'm actually feeling rather good about this. I think we've all arrived at a very special place, eh?" He stepped neatly around Elizabeth and leaned towards the governor. "Spiritually—ecumenically—" He turned to the Commodore. "—Grammatically." Under his breath, he added, "I was rooting for you, mate; know that."

Sarah snorted derisively, and Jack gave her a fleeting look, already moving away.

"Elizabeth," he said seriously, "It would never have worked between us, darling. I'm sorry." With a few steps forward, he paused and looked back. "Will—nice hat."

He then leapt backwards several steps, towards the wall that dropped off into the sea. "Men!" He announced, as they all collectively rushed after him, Sarah near the front. When Jack saw her, he reached out and grabbed her arm, pulling her next to him. At first she thought he was going to use her as a hostage, but then he kept moving backwards and she groaned inwardly.

"This is the day you will always remember as the day that you—"

She was terrified of heights.

The last thing she saw were the shocked faces of Will and Elizabeth as she and Jack toppled over the side of the fort. Her stomach was in her mouth and then she hit the water with a loud slap. Her nose stung with the rush of brine, she had lost her shoes, and her bottom would probably be sore for the rest of the week.

"Brilliant," she gasped, exhilarated as she burst through the surface of the water. Jack grinned next to her as they both caught sight of broad gleaming sails and a familiar hull.

"Swim, woman," he urged, doing just that. As they gradually moved away from the fort, and away from Port Royal, Sarah was filled with a hollow, surging excitement. She knew she was mad not to be thinking of all the filthy diseases and unpredictable weather patterns and bloody raids that the _Black Pearl_ brazenly offered, but the brackish, sultry scent of adventure was like an addicting high. She couldn't stop swimming if she wanted to.

They were heaved onto the ship on the same rope, landing together in a heap of wet twisting limbs.

"Though you were supposed to keep to the code," Jack said as a broadly grinning Gibbs pulled them to their feet.

"We figured they were more actual…_guidelines_," the older man said, chuckling.

As Sarah rung out her skirts, AnaMaria stepped forward and offered Jack his captain's cloak. "Jack Sparrow," she announced expansively. "The _Black Pearl_ is yours."

Even Sarah was careful to be quiet as Jack stepped forward and took hold of his long-missed helm. He caressed it like a lover, which Sarah found fascinating. She had never seen a man love an inanimate object as much as Jack did—then again, she had never seen a man love an alcoholic beverage as much as Jack did, either.

Noticing at last that every pair of eyes on board was fixed on him, Jack shouted, "On deck, you scabrous dogs! Man the braces!"

Sarah came forward and stood beside him silently for a moment as the crew hurried to follow orders.

"Now, bring me that horizon."

۞

Two weeks later, Sarah found herself on the opposite end of a gangplank, watching the Black Pearl weigh anchor. Behind her, the unfamiliar sounds of Port Nassau, rumbling with business and activity.

"You're sure this is what you want, love?" Jack had inquired, as she stuffed a change of clothes and a small change purse jingling with her share of the results of a successful capture.

She had kept a respectful distance from the captain those two weeks, concentrating on relearning the required skills of a sailor, and taking several slapdash combat lessons with various members of the crew. On the day of her departure, she had stepped into Jack's cabin for the first time to say goodbye.

"Very sure," she replied, smiling openly as he examined her from behind his desk, maps with unfamiliar places sprawled across its surface. The afternoon sun gave the room a warm woody smell.

As suave as ever, he rose from his seat and came around to stand before her. He let one hand graze her cheek, waiting to see if she would pull away. She didn't think he quite understood why she had been all but ignoring him since they had left Port Royal.

Feeling him kiss her again, _she_ wasn't quite sure why she had either. He guided her to him with a hand at the back of her neck and let that hand roam freely while his mouth was fitted against hers. The other stayed on her cheek, ever so slightly tilting her head back. Familiar fingers on the bare skin of her back finally brought her back to her senses. If she stayed any longer, she knew she wouldn't have it in her to leave.

And she needed to leave.

Now, as she watched the ship's sails too quickly disappear into the indistinct blueness of the sea, she shrugged off her disappointment and started down the docks, skirt swishing pleasantly around her legs. Some time soon, she decided, she would have to take up her old adored habit and write this all down, to make sure she didn't forget it.

For now, however, she would learn to live without regret, love without fear, and drink without throwing herself at a man, so that next time she ran into Jack, she was sufficiently prepared.

۞

The star sign Pisces arrives at the end of the astrological cycle, just before everything returns to the beginning and the sky is renewed. It comes closer than all other signs to the fantastical reaches of the spirit world and the mystical happenings in that plain of existence. During that brief period between the end of Pisces and the beginning of Aries, there is a space where the Piscean fish can swim through rivers of time and space, dropping off the normal routine of the planet for a few chaotic days of surging rapids. A Piscean in the wrong river, however, will be torn apart by the contradicting currents, and its symbol of two fish swimming in opposite directions will be split apart—half a person, half a life. In the right river, the two fish will swim easily together, balancing each other's forces in perfect synchronization.

At the end of the cycle, this is what a Pisces is given a chance to find—and sometimes, fate's mistakes are corrected. Sometimes, life works itself out.

۞

_Fin_

۞

**Story Notes: **When I first read the plot for _Dead Man's Chest_, I made some plans for the sequel to this story. Sarah and James (Norrington) would have ended up falling in love. Jack and Elizabeth would have a very tumultuous affair and Will would develop a personality that would eventually win her back. Jack's only love is the _Pearl_, which I now quite firmly believe. Since I'm not actually going to be writing that story, I just thought I'd let you know what I had in my head, so I could get it out.

**Author's Note: **Oh dear. I'm a great deal sadder to leave this story than I thought I would be. Well, to begin: I am so utterly and wholly ashamed of my laziness. One thing led to another and this story was all but abandoned—my very sincere apologies to you all.

On a farewell note, I just want to collectively thank all the reviewers who read this story even though it was a rewrite, as I did it more for myself than anyone else but ended up wanting to impress you guys in the end. You always make it worthwhile.

Ta, loves!


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